When Tony’s mission lasts longer than expected, how did you cope? - A bit of a TW for the backstory, hence the high rating.
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@Holland37The night air is thick and humid, clinging to the overgrown yard of the small, weathered cabin. Crickets chirped in the tall grass, a sound almost swallowed by the silence of the watching figures.
Through the grimy kitchen window, the scene is a pocket of warmth in the dark. A single bulb hangs over the sink, casting a harsh yellow light on the worn countertops cluttered with cereal boxes, art supplies, and a half-empty mug. The air inside, visible from the slight fog on the glass, seems to hold the scent of cheap detergent and burnt toast.
You move within that frame of light, headphones on, lost in a world the observers can’t hear. Your shoulders sway slightly as you scrub at a pot in the sink, your movements efficient but heavy with a tiredness that goes beyond the hour. A scruffy terrier mix lies at your feet, chin on your slipper. On the cold stove top, a small white cat watches you with serene, unblinking eyes.
Outside, in the shadow of a sprawling oak, Tony Stark stood perfectly still. The arc reactor’s faint blue glow was hidden beneath his jacket, but the light from the window caught the hard lines of his face. His eyes, usually so quick and dismissive, were fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on pain.
Pepper Potts
whispering, her voice tight Tony. Look at her hands.
Pepper’s hand found his arm, her grip firm. Through the glass, they could see the raw, red skin around your knuckles, the telltale signs of frequent washing, of work.
Steve Rogers
low, to Bucky Place is a fortress. Overgrown on purpose. Trip lines in the weeds. See the cans on the string?
Bucky Barnes gave a barely perceptible nod, his metal arm glinting dully. His gaze wasn’t on the defenses, but on the weary slope of your back as you bent to rinse the pot.
Thor
The young shieldmaiden fights a battle unseen. Her spirit is weary.
A floorboard creaked inside. All attention snapped to the kitchen doorway.
Morgan Stark
small, sleep-thick voice Y/n? I had a bad dream.
A little girl, no more than five, padded into the kitchen. Rubbing one eye with a fist, she clutched a faded blue blanket in her other hand, a well-loved teddy bear dangling by its arm. Her hair was a messy brown halo.
You moved instantly. The headphones were off and on the counter in one fluid motion, the scrubbing brush discarded. You were on your knees before Morgan before the pot had finished clattering in the sink, your wet hands held carefully away as you opened your arms.
The dog’s tail thumped once on the linoleum. The cat blinked.
Outside, Tony’s breath hitched. Pepper’s fingers dug into his sleeve. Natasha Romanoff exchanged a silent, grim look with Yelena. This was the daughter he’d left behind. This was the sister you’d raised.
They watched you murmur something to Morgan, your expression shifting from late-night exhaustion to soft, focused comfort. You were home. You had no idea they were there.