I Thought You Were Different: Part 4

Trepidation

As expected, the news didn't go over very well. After sitting the team down and explaining what FRIDAY had shown you, you saw Tony go through the stages of grief within a matter of seconds, culminating in a furious slam of his fists against the unforgiving table top and spouting a string of intelligible profanities before storming out of the conference room and completely ignoring your call for him to stop.

"Let him go, doll," Steve urged quietly when you stood, "he needs time to process, and now it takes a little longer than he's used to."

~~~

Tony wasn't sure if it was a blessing or a curse that Nick had refused his direction to take this old crate of crap back with him, but he now found himself once again sitting in front of it, battling himself to decide if he wanted to delve in or just throw it all away. He didn't really care if there were things that Steve might want in here, at least not right now with the way he was feeling towards the guy; he wasn't even sure if he cared that there were things that he might want for himself. If he closed his mind to bad luck and to the course of fate, he could convince himself that his injury now was Howard's fault for bringing Steve into his life in the first place. That was something that Tony excelled in; blaming his father for anything he wanted to since the man wasn't around to argue the point.

Steve had dominated so many conversations and so many moments lost with his father as he grew up that Tony couldn't reconcile himself to believe that he would offer up his own life for the man now. Even if it were to save him for you, it felt like a stretch. It possibly, maybe, wasn't completely Steve's fault, and maybe the deep-seeded hatred was misguided towards him, but some of it had to be his to own. He didn't have any control about how Howard felt and how he treated Tony because of it; hell, he the poor guy was frozen for pretty much all of Tony's life so far. It seemed like he was a nice enough guy and sickeningly polite; you liked him, after all, so he couldn't be all bad, because Tony was certain that he had raised you better than that. It wasn't taking long for Tony to talk himself into circles, now confused even more about how he felt towards Steve.

The door opened slowly and caught his attention, jolting him from the rambling thoughts rattling around in his mind and the troubling realization about what he had done for a man that he had spent most of his life hating to his very core.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he greeted with a smile, but it was quickly dashed when he realized his error.

"It's Brooklyn, Grandpa."

"Right, sorry, kiddo," he waved dismissively with a sorrowful groan and a weary tap of his hand to his head, "blame the busted brain. You just look exactly like your mom when she was your age."

"It's okay. I just came down here to see what you were up to."

"Who sent you?"

"Me," she shrugged. "Can't I worry about you on my own?"

Tony smiled genuinely, perhaps for the first time since the accident, pausing to take in the sight of the girl and to admire how right he was; the two of you were so alike that he really struggled to tell the difference. "You sure are a little version of (Y/N). You're not much older than she was when I adopted her, did you know that?"

"Wait," Brooklyn stopped mid-stride, furrowing her brow in confusion, "you adopted mom? So, we're not actually related to you?"

"Didn't you know that?"

"Boss," FRIDAY broke in, "there are some details that have come to light in recent years that may have escaped you in the accident. (Y/N) is your biological daughter."