Steve was safe, his voice over the phone the best thing Tony had heard in years, the relief immediately sinking into his bones. Riri was on the couch a few floors up, sleeping albeit fitfully, FRIDAY watching over her closely and Dum-E draping a blanket over her as he rolled past. Danny and Sharon had been in touch, Drew’s incident report had been thorough in describing who exactly was injured or killed, and Tony was left picking up the pieces – and his mind was stuck on her. It was like he said to Steve when he first said her name and daughter in the same sentence, at least out loud. He couldn’t get Sofia Stark (Sethi) out of his head. He couldn’t stop turning over that night with Suri, couldn’t stop thinking maybes that turned into probably that turned into definitely.
She was his daughter. It was the best and the worst thing that could happen, all at the same time. He wanted to apologise for it, wanted to apologise for a lot of things, wanted to bring her to the museum and walk around the exhibits and watch to see whether she reacted to the same pieces of history that he had, whether she lit up with the excitement Pepper described sticking around for when she saw it for the first time down in the workshop. They didn’t get the chance to go to the museum yet. Tony signed up for the operation on the off chance he would have more time than just one day to spend, and now New York was a warzone.
And now she was in front of him.
“Hi,” Tony replied, the word coming out of him in a rush of breath, but Sofia was already struggling for her own. He recognised the signs as much as he processed the words. Mutant. Was that why she was sent away? Was that why she found herself here, stealing purses, using that name before she knew? She moved back and Tony hesitated for only a moment before taking a step towards her, hand falling short as it reached for hers. (They weren’t there yet. They might never be. More than twenty years he’d been … ) “Hey, look at me,” he said, meeting her eyes. “Sofia, focus on my voice. You’re not going to get hurt. Nothing is going to happen to you while I’m still breathing, you hear me?” His voice dropped lower, forcing her to listen more closely to pick up the words, a trick he’d learned from watching Danny. “Count for me. Count … count how many computer monitors are in here. Tell me how many there are.” Tony shifted again, chewing at the inside of his cheek. He managed a small, faint smile in Sofia’s direction. “I get this, too. I can’t blast it in the face, but remembering where you are, who you’re with, it helps. And I’ve got you. You’re not falling, not here.”
Sofia didn't tell people about being a mutant --- it wasn't out of shame, but self-preservation. And the fight in Central Park had proved all her paranoia to be... well, based in reality. Suddenly, it wasn't just her looking at the news and making assumptions about the future. Her fears were now based in something very real. Something tangible. And she didn't know who to turn to for help. Her mother might have picked up the phone... but her mother would have also pulled her out of here by her hair and forced her back to New Orleans or back to California, and the idea of finally finding Tony and being ripped away from this again only pushed Sofia further down her spiral.
With her breathing already labored and her chest heaving, Sofia squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn't planned on telling Tony about what she was --- and if she had a choice, it wouldn't have been like this. Not after someone had died, not while there were tears in her eyes, not while she was wondering if she was going to end up on the ground with other mutants.
If she had a choice, a lot of things would have been different. She wouldn't have met him in a diner, she wouldn't have come to the realization that he was her father over a note she has tucked away in her wallet. A lot of things would be different. But... this was their reality.
She looked at Tony for a long time after he started speaking, his words barely reaching her --- but still, they did. They pulled her back to reality slowly. Even if the pounding in her chest hadn’t settled. “Monitors...” she repeated, her eyes searching the room, but the second that her eyes were off of Tony, she felt the panic creep back up her spine. Sofia took in a sharp breath and at the same time, there was a spark from her hands. Curling her hands into fists, she crossed her arms and held her hands close to her side. “I’m --- I’m sorry, when I ---” Sofia took several steps back from Tony, stumbling as she moved. “It’s bad when...” She didn’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t just panic that caused her to lose control, it was any intense emotion. (Would he be scared of her if he knew?) “It’ll stop soon.” Would it? She hoped it would.
But Tony was telling her that he had been here too and Sofia let out a strangled laugh. Was this another thing she had in common with the father she barely knew? How many more bits of herself were connected to him? How much of his DNA influenced her? The cheeseburgers, the memory... this. But this, this she was used to dealing with alone in a locked room with her arms wrapped around her legs while she tried to push away every thought that terrorized her. Having someone try and talk her down was new. “Okay,” Sofia said weakly, nodding her head while taking in a strangled breath, her eyes on the ceiling as she tried to breathe. “I’m not falling here.”
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