Chapter Text
Morgan H. Stark is the light of Tony’s life. More than that. He’s the Earth and Tony is an insignificant little moon. He’s the nucleus and Tony is an electron. A son to a father. Purpose wrapped up in a tiny blue onesie.
He has to be advanced. Are newborns usually this expressive? Do they always have their dads wrapped around their tiny baby-fingers from the first minute? Yeah, Morgan is a little genius. Tony is sure of it.
“He’s perfect,” Pepper murmurs, clearly exhausted from the hours-long labor. Tony doesn’t think she’s ever looked so beautiful, pale and sweaty but absolutely glowing. She holds her arms out. “Hand him over.”
“I don’t think so. Ever heard of father-son bonding?” Tony gazes down at the little boy. Morgan lifts his tiny fist up and steals Tony’s heart again. “We’re doing it, right now. Look at us. We’re bonding.” Suddenly, Morgan’s face crumples and he lets out a heart-wrenching wail.
“Oh no, Bambino. None of that. You want Mom, don’t you?” Handing Morgan off to Pepper is his first great act as a father.
Morgan comes home to the safest, and most advanced nursery in the world. Every inch of his room is designed to monitor his every move. Every beat of his heart, every intake of his breath. Every milestone he hits is recorded and archived. Everyone who enters his room is photographed. Tony doesn’t sleep soundly, but it’s not because of anxiety. Morgan needs constant interaction or he screams his little head off. There’s always someone with him. Pepper, Tony, Happy, even Rhodey does some babysitting.
“Hey man, I know they say you can’t spoil babies,” Rhodey starts one night when Tony has held Morgan for the better part of five hours. “But it’s not a contest, alright? You can put him down for a few minutes. Take a bathroom break.”
“I’m sorry, who do you think I’m holding here?” Tony feigns offence. He stands up with Morgan securely in his arms. “This isn’t just any baby. This is the Morgan Stark. Son of a billionaire philanthropist, heir to an enormous fortune, future child genius. You’re right about one thing, though.”
Rhodey raises an eyebrow.
“It’s not a contest.”
Morgan is advanced. It’s not just a compliment anymore, he’s really, really advanced. It takes everything Tony has to let the doctors poke and prod his son for a few hours for the results. Pepper holds his hand tightly while Morgan fidgets in a stroller, the man in front of them way too stern to be a child psychologist.
“You should be very proud of Morgan, Mr. Stark. Ms. Potts. Morgan tested in the ninety-ninth percentile for general development. Congratulations.” He drones one, flipping through page after page of assessment.
“Alright,” Tony stands up. Pepper tries to pull him back down. “Are we done here? Morgan’s got a nap he needs to get to. A really important nap.” Morgan’s little hands reach up towards him.
“Uh. Uh. Uh.” He grunts, lips not quite touching enough to complete the word. It’s not rocket science though, and it wouldn’t matter if it was. Tony picks his son up. He’s got this parenting thing figured out
Morgan can say three words before he’s eight months old. They’re not all perfect, but they’re good enough for his most attentive caregivers to figure out. There’s “Up,” one of his favourites. “No” is a close second, and “More” comes out during feedings. His little limbs are still jerky and uncoordinated, but his brain works at a mile a minute. Tony couldn’t be prouder when his son picks up his first plastic wrench and swings it around, copying his father.
When Morgan starts walking, Stark Tower undergoes a major renovation. Everything that can be baby-proofed is, and the Baby Monitor protocol is updated to lock every unsafe cabinet that Morgan approaches. There were some things that they missed, of course, and that becomes clear when Morgan manages to find the elevator and make his way all the way down to the basement before FRIDAY alerts anyone.
“Master Stark has Diamond Privileges. He is allowed access to any room within the tower.” FRIDAY drones on while Tony scoops up the toddling boy. Morgan shrieks No in protest.
“Update that. He has Baby Privileges. Any room in the tower that an adult is already in, and no more joyrides.”
“Creating the Baby Privileges rank.”
“You do that,” Tony says, bringing Morgan back up to his lab. He watches as the toddler tries the elevator again. It doesn’t open this time, and he breathes a sigh of relief.
None of them can cope with the press conference. They get an intern to do it, someone who hasn’t even met Morgan. Tony is busy. Pepper is busy. Everyone is busy. They should be, at least. Anyone found just standing around is immediately dismissed, sometimes violently. Everyone but Happy is replaced on the security team. The entirety of California is searched.
Tony spends his time scouring security footage and vomiting in the bathroom, pale and sleep-deprived. Pepper has been creating new initiates, new organizations for lost children. Kidnapped children. Rhodey talks to the police for them, a messenger between two frantic groups.
They blink and it’s been a week. The only clues are an open window and a missing fucking baby.
A month passes with nothing. Not even a profile. No one announces that they’re looking for a body, but the police stop carrying pacifiers and blankets.
Pepper hugs him for the first time in six weeks and Tony crumbles.
Pepper still re-decorates his room. The crib is gradually updated to a toddler bed, and then a daybed. The toys change from rattles to action-figures to boardgames. She keeps everything, even retrieving what the police took as evidence all those years ago. There’s a general theme to the bedroom, always science and engineering. It’s all they have of him.
Tony keeps updating the baby monitor protocol. It’s not active anymore, but the moment Friday sees Morgan, the lower cabinets will lock again. Then, the upper cabinets. No one can use the stove without a code. Or there’ll be a curfew. Tony curses God for taking these experiences from him, but no one ever answers.
Rhodey bakes a cake every year. It’s depressing to watch the candles crowd the cake without anyone to blow them out. He doesn’t stop, though, even when Morgan hits double-digits.
Happy keeps toys in the dashboard of his car. They’re always age-appreciated, updating as often as Pepper does with his room. Now, he keeps a rubix cube in his cub holder and a game-boy under the seat.
Natasha starts carrying around a picture of him, tucked into her left shoe. She’s got a soft spot for kidnapped kids. Who would’ve guessed? They don’t talk about it, but she does a double-take every time a curly-haired boy walks past her, just in case.
Bruce knows Morgan’s assessment results by heart. He finds them one day in the lab and is thoroughly impressed. He figures that at ten years old, Morgan should already be in high school. Maybe even starting college.
Steve does voice-overs for Pepper’s new organizations, urging everyone to report suspicious activity. If you see something, say something. It’s even more important now. More personal.
Clint stays up with Tony on the anniversary since he has the most experience with this kind of thing. They talk about the responsibility of fatherhood and get drunk, ultimately crying together. No one mentions that later, though.
Thor is positive that Morgan is out there somewhere, being raised by a new family. Perhaps he is a God now. Children aren’t just abandoned, he says. Take Loki for example. Wait, maybe not the best example.
As alone as Tony feels, he is surrounded by those who care. It’s comforting to know that everyone is still looking for Morgan.