Somewhere in a publicly undisclosed location, though those within the inner circle would know it to be a five acre property in upstate New York, a seemingly simple, yet elegant cabin was situated near a placid pond, concealed by foliage and a winding road. Originally intended as a quaint summer home, the events of Thanos' Decimation had rendered it quickly anything but. In a time of hopelessness and shocking upheaval, it was now to be a place of solace and permanence. The plans were changed. The home had two basement levels built beneath its foundation, and all important items were relocated to the property. Soon, a replication of what once was now existed on a smaller scale; the faint resemblance of normalcy. That's where the Starks made their home.

Despite being lived in fully for over a year, Tony had not yet visited the garage his wife Pepper had designed for him. There were times he pondered going within, but he knew that in so doing, he would be stepping into the past, which contained nothing but pain, loss, and failure. Today would be the first day he braved it. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the knob and entered. His A.I. assistant, Friday, sensing his presence, automatically flicked on the lights. Just as he expected, she had arranged the room to look just like his workshop in his now-destroyed Malibu abode… give or take the odd cardboard box labelled "Christmas" or "books" stacked in the corner. A robotic assistant, which he had derisively named DUM-E for its continued malfunctions, flicked to life and looked expectantly at his former master with a hopeful whir of its servos.

"You're not out of the woods yet, pal, don't get too excited," Tony commented as he passed it.

He approached his work bench, tossing down the plastic-encased action figure he had been holding. He gave a slight snort, shaking his head. After all this time, this was the reason he was finally going back to work. He took a seat and grabbed scissors, struggling to free the figure from its plastic prison. Why did they make these things so damn hard to open? Finally, he was able to pry the plastic apart, taking out the toy from within and holding it in his palm. The narrow, rectangular eyes of a suit he once constructed and wore stared back at him, seeming to mock him. It was designed to look like the Mark VII, the suit he had operated during the Battle of New York eight years previous. These were simpler times. Back when things were…back when everyone…

Feeling emotions start to rise up, Tony blinked, shaking his head and calling out, "Friday, it's too quiet. Play something."

"Gotcha, boss," she replied immediately. Suddenly, a rhythmic piano began to fill the room. Tony squinted, not recognizing the melody at first. His face fell as soon as Gilbert O'Sullivan's voice began to croon,

"In a little while from now,
If I'm not feeling any less sour,
I promise myself to treat myself,
And visit a nearby tower,
And climbing to the top,
Will throw myself off—"

"Hey, hey, hey! Whoa! Stop!"

Friday obeyed. The music ceased.

"Is that your idea of a joke?" he asked incredulously.

"You said to play somethin', boss!" she countered.

Tony rubbed an exasperated hand over his face. "Play something I'd listen to. Please? Something that's also not laden in dramatic irony. That'd be swell."

The opening chords of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long," began to play. "That's better," Tony called out. "Safe, but better."

Now accompanied by his music of choice, Tony set to work, examining the toy and grabbing a screwdriver and his glasses. He made Friday increase the volume, feeling the bass surge through him as he worked. Though far from the engineering he was used to performing, this felt like a safe re-entry to a past version of himself he had thought to be long gone. So loud was the music that he barely noticed what seemed like a slight murmur behind him.

He spun in his chair, seeing Pepper standing in the doorway, amused but with her arms folded tight across her chest sternly. "Friday, cut the tunes," he said.

"I said," Pepper began, "I just put Morgan down for a nap." She entered the room a few paces and looked around her. "These walls aren't soundproof like your old shop, you know. Though I probably should have accounted for that."

"Sorry," he replied sheepishly. His wife gave him a pointed look, which communicated, I told you so. I told you you'd be back. He merely shook his head in concession, giving a small shrug. In so doing, Pepper saw the action figure in his left hand. She squinted in confusion.

"Ah," he said, taking note of her unspoken question. "Picked this up in town this morning. That little thrift shop run by the creepy guy."

"Mr. Edwards?" she asked. "Stop, he's sweet!"

"He's creepy. But, the man knows how to run a business. Full of old relics that nobody cares about anymore," he said, holding the action figure of himself aloft.

Pepper waved his self-deprecating comment off and took the toy from him. "This is an old one," she said. "What model?"

"The seven," he replied. "New York got destroyed and the toy manufacturers were sure quick to capitalize, weren't they? Press the arc reactor."

Pepper did so, and a tinny, high-pitched "I am Iron Man!" emerged. She shared a disgusted look at Tony. "Who's voice is that?" she said.

"Not a clue," he said taking it back from her. He pushed the blue reactor button again, making the toy cry out, "Avengers, assemble!" "That's not even my line!" he scoffed. "So! I thought I'd rectify the problem— give it an upgrade."

Pepper narrowed her eyes. "So, what, you're Geppetto now?"

"I dunno," Tony shrugged. "For Morgan? But I'm not giving her a toy with somebody else's voice in there! Then it'll be a whole thing, she'll imprint on some random voice actor, leading to a whole, 'You're not my real dad,' phase when she gets to her angsty teen years…"

"I'm sorry," Pepper cut him off with a raised hand. "Are you telling me that you're putting your voice into a doll of yourself… for your daughter?" When he only blinked at her in response, she narrowed her eyes and said, "Now see—that's what I would define as creepy."

"Hey, creep 'em out while they're young. She'll be utterly unfazed by the time she gets to be our age."

She rolled her eyes, but smiled, kissing her incorrigible husband on the forehead. She murmured, "Fine. Play with your toys. But don't forget, you're on for dinner tonight!" He watched her as she left, calling out over her shoulder upon her exit, "And keep it down, or you're going to be on for middle-of-the-night-Morgan duty as well!"

He gave a small smirk, then returned to his work, this time in silence. Removing the tiny metal speaker, he tossed it aside. It would be exceedingly simple to insert his own voice. He couldn't wait to see the look on Morgan's face when she pressed the arc reactor button and heard his own voice emerging from it.

The only question was…what would he have it tell her?

Thirteen years had rendered a few significant changes to this little cabin by the pond. It began when three inhabitants became two. After that, belongings were gone through, assessed, and moved. The garage had been all but entirely gutted, now solely containing boxes full of echoes of the past no one had ever quite been ready to unpack. A hundred or so yards from the house, there once stood a small playhouse for Morgan when she was small. In its place now stood a shed. This is where the contents of the garage now lived, as well as where a now fourteen-year old Morgan spent most of her time.

That was where she was now, reclined in a swivel chair at her father's old bench. Friday was blaring Pat Benataur's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" at alarmingly high decibels. Harmful? Probably, but it was how she best worked…though she wasn't exactly getting much work done at the moment. Her physics homework was strewn across the tabletop, with but a few haphazard attempts at solutions scribbled across her graph paper. This wasn't to say that she didn't understand the work by any means. In fact, Midtown's stubborn refusal to allow her to skip ahead to advanced physics courses as a freshman made this introductory class a complete snooze-fest. She could pound through these pointless equations if she really wanted to, but there were far more important matters on her mind. Her heart had been racing non-stop since being driven back home from school that afternoon with the anticipation of tonight's meeting.

Her hands instinctively found her Iron Man action figure from childhood that she always kept on the bench. Her fingertips traced its outline. It had all started with this simple little toy. After all these years of seeking answers, the thought that finally all would be revealed tonight was more than she could bear. Please, she begged to any sentient voice who would listen, Please let it all go according to plan tonight. I need them both here.

"MORGAAAN!" her mother's voice cut through her silent prayer.

"Friday, stop!" Morgan ordered the house A.I., tossing the action figure into a nearby open box. Pat Benataur's voice cut out mid wail. Morgan spun around, whipping her face with her long, dark hair in the process. "Sorry, mom!" she hastily apologized.

Pepper, who had entered her daughter's workshop to the cacophony of hard rock and Morgan leaning back in a chair with her eyes closed, was irritated. "How many times?"

"I know!" she said submissively, scrambling to her feet. "I'm sorry!"

"You're going to blow your ears out! Enough!"

"I'm sorry," Morgan repeated.

Pepper looked stern for a moment, then her face softened. "I came out to bring you this," she said, handing her a bowl full of rainbow sherbet, "And to say that I'm going to bed." She gave her a concerned glance. "You should too. Is your homework done?"

Morgan opened her mouth to give a steadfast lie, but her mother's single, raised eyebrow told her immediately that it wasn't going to work. She deflated. "No."

"Really?" asked Pepper sarcastically. "I couldn't tell, because you looked so hard at work."

"It's boring," Morgan whined, collapsing back into the swivel chair. "I can do this stuff in my sleep!"

"Well that's interesting," Pepper teased, standing behind her and looking at the blank pages on the table. "Because 'sleeping' was exactly what it looked like you were doing, and yet none of this is completed."

Mouth full of sherbet, Morgan complained, "Can't Peter put in a good word for me? He's an alumni and a benefactor! They'll do whatever he says!"

Pepper squeezed her daughter's shoulder. "You know that's not true. It's the school's rules, sweetie. You're not even through one semester. Get through this, and a whole world of opportunities will open up to you."

"I can do so much more though," Morgan said softly.

"I know you can." Pepper kissed her on the top of her head, then turned to go. "Now finish up and get to bed. Speaking of Peter, don't forget that Happy's picking you up tomorrow after school. We've got to go straight to the reception!"

Morgan's heart dropped into her stomach. "Okay!" she called out in a high voice. She waited for the door to close before she exclaimed, "Shit!" The opening of Parker Industries! Morgan had completely forgotten. Peter had been working closely with her mom over the past few years to develop a branch of Stark Industries all his own. Tomorrow was the day he made the company go public, and she and her mother were expected to be there. She had completely forgot about the preparation involved with an event like that. Would she able to proceed with her plans for the night if things were so hectic back in Manhattan?

"Friday?" she asked, beginning to pace the shed, "Time?"

"It's 11:32 PM, boss."

Dammit. Twenty-eight minutes to go. That meant twenty-eight full minutes of non-stop worrying. This needed to work. It had to work.

"UrrrgggGHHHHH!" she groaned, running her hands through her hair in frustration. "Screw it. Call him."

"Boss? It's too early. The decided upon time was midnight."

"I know!" Morgan said, "But I'm too anxious. Just call him. If he doesn't answer, we'll just call back until he does!"

"He'll yell at ya, boss."

"Tough!" Morgan chirped.

"Now calling Harley Keener." Morgan waited as the hologram feed tone sounded. It sounded again. And again. And again…and again. She began to wring her hands nervously. Come on, come on!

Finally, a breathless man with short blonde hair that was standing up in every direction from being uncombed answered the feed, his image reflected in the room in life size, though cut off by a desk. From his residence in Tennessee, he stared into his computer's holofeed camera. "You're kidding me, right? We agreed to call at midnight, your time!"

"Told ya," Friday goaded.

"Ah ha!" Morgan shouted triumphantly. "But still you answered!"

Harley sat at his chair, collapsing his head into his hands and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Two. Hours. I had the ability to get two whole hours of sleep before having our call. And yet you deny me an entire half hour!"

"Technically twenty-eight minutes," she grinned. "But come on, wake up! I want to show you my handiwork!"

He let out an exasperated sigh, but finally conceded. "Okay. Show me."

Morgan leapt to her feet and took her place for the reveal she had rehearsed. "Friday, cue fanfare please!" Immediately, Morgan heard the hydraulics of the overhead ceiling lift begin to open up and release. An instrumental melody of triumphant horns began to sound. "Mr. Keener," she said waving jazz hands, "May I present to you…"

The panel opened and lowered a stainless steel pipe rack that contained a suit that was a spitting image of Tony Stark's first completed Iron Man suit, the very one that had given him his massive fame.

"…the Mark III!"