Chapter 12

A couple of days had passed since the heated argument between Howard and Tony, but the tension still hung heavy in the air. Howard had tried to focus on his work, burying himself in the familiar hum of innovation and mechanics, but his mind kept drifting back to the conversation with his son.

He knew he couldn't ignore it forever. Maria had been right: Tony needed to understand, and he needed to see the bigger picture. But how? How do you tell your son that the world is far more dangerous than he could possibly imagine? How do you tell him that his father has been keeping secrets for his own protection?

It wasn't just about Tony's safety. It was about trust. He could see the cracks in their relationship, and while Tony may have been angry, Howard wasn't blind to the hurt. He couldn't stand the idea of losing his son to that kind of resentment.

Sighing deeply, Howard stood from his desk and walked to the living room, where Tony was sitting on the couch, half-absorbed in one of his tech magazines, though Howard could tell his son wasn't truly reading. The silence between them felt suffocating.

Howard cleared his throat, drawing Tony's attention. "We need to talk."

Tony didn't immediately respond, but the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his reluctance. Finally, he lowered the magazine and looked at his father, though his expression was still guarded.

"About what? More excuses about why you couldn't be around?" Tony's tone was sharp, but there was something softer behind the edge, a mixture of curiosity and bitterness.

Howard sat across from him, his gaze steady. "No. This is about the truth, Tony."

Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, though still skeptical. "The truth? What, did you lose another invention to Hydra or something?"

Howard took a breath, realizing just how much he had kept from his son. This wasn't going to be easy, but it was necessary. "You know how I've always been busy. That I work with a lot of... organizations. People in power." He paused, watching for Tony's reaction. Tony's frown deepened, but he didn't interrupt. "Well, what I've never told you is that some of that work has been with a group called S.H.I.E.L.D."

Tony's eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in complete confusion. "S.H.I.E.L.D.? What's that? Sounds like a government acronym for 'Stay Home and Hide'."

Howard chuckled despite himself, then sobered. "It's a bit more than that. It's an organization, a shield, really, against threats too dangerous for normal intelligence agencies. It was founded decades ago, back in the '40s, right after the war. Peggy Carter, your godmother, was one of the original founders."

Tony blinked, the name "Peggy Carter" stopping him short. He had known the name, of course—his godmother, the woman who had somehow managed to stay both a fixture in his life and a mystery. But he had no idea she'd been involved in anything like this.

"Wait, Peggy Carter?" Tony echoed, sitting up straighter now. "You and her... what, founded some super-secret organization?" He let out a disbelieving laugh. "What, is this some kind of spy movie?"

"It's not a movie, Tony," Howard said, his voice steady. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is exactly what we've needed all along. An organization that tracks and deals with extraterrestrial threats, rogue scientists, and dangerous individuals. We've been protecting the world from things most people never even know exist."

Tony's eyes widened. "You're telling me that all those strange disappearances, the stuff you've been working on in the garage—those weren't just… you know, billionaire toys?" He was beginning to connect the dots, and Howard could see the gears turning in his mind. But he also saw the flash of anger—the anger that was always there when Tony felt like he'd been kept in the dark.

Howard pressed on. "A lot of what I've been doing, Tony, has been for S.H.I.E.L.D. I've been working on tech to help protect the world. Things you've seen me build, like the armor, or the weapons—they were all part of this bigger picture. This... responsibility I carry."

Tony shook his head, his voice quiet but harsh. "And you didn't think to mention any of this before? How long has this been going on? You've been lying to me for years, Dad. What else have you been hiding?"

Howard's heart clenched at the hurt in his son's voice. "I wasn't lying, Tony. I was protecting you. Keeping you safe from things that you didn't need to know about. S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't just about me or Peggy. It was about keeping the world from falling apart. There are things out there, things you can't even imagine, and we've been keeping it all from the public eye. You think I wanted you involved in that kind of danger?" His voice softened, regret and exhaustion in his eyes. "I never wanted that for you."

Tony stared at him, his arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched. He was processing, but Howard could see the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "So what, I've just been this... kid you were keeping in the dark because it was 'safer'?"

Howard shook his head slowly. "I didn't know how to tell you, Tony. I never wanted you to feel like you had to be a part of that world. But you've always been the smart one, the one with the potential to do something big. I couldn't protect you from everything, and I should've trusted you more."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Tony's gaze dropped to the floor, his hands resting on his knees. "You think I'm angry because you didn't tell me about S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Tony's voice was quieter now, almost distant. "I'm not angry about that. I'm angry because you never thought I was enough. You and Peggy, you were always talking about Steve Rogers, about how he could do things I never could. But you never gave me a chance to be... me. You always wanted me to be someone else."

Howard's chest tightened. "I never wanted you to be anyone else, Tony. I was proud of you from the moment you were born. But I was also scared. I didn't want you to face the same kind of dangers that I did."

Tony stood abruptly, walking toward the window. "You never wanted me to have the chance to choose, did you? You made all the decisions for me. You kept me away from this world because you didn't trust me to handle it."

"I trusted you more than you know," Howard said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I didn't know how to bring you into it. I didn't want to pull you into the danger I've seen. But I should have trusted you. You're not a kid anymore, Tony. And you've proven you can handle anything."

Tony didn't turn back, but there was a momentary pause in his movements. Then, without a word, he walked out of the room.

Howard sat back, his heart heavy. Maybe this wasn't the end of their struggle. But for the first time in a long while, Howard felt like he might have finally taken a step toward truly understanding his son.

—

Tony stood in the doorway, his hand lingering on the frame as he stared out the window, lost in his thoughts. His father's words still echoed in his mind, each one a punch to the gut, a truth he wasn't sure how to process. Howard had done what he always did—shielded him, kept him at arm's length, and tried to decide what was best. Tony had spent his whole life fighting against that, and now, for the first time, it felt like all the walls that had kept him from truly understanding his father were crumbling.

But that didn't make it easier.

He exhaled slowly, as if trying to expel the frustration, the anger, and the confusion that had been building for days. He couldn't go on like this. He needed to talk to someone—someone who didn't have an agenda, someone who didn't see him as just another asset in some grand scheme. Someone who had always been there for him, in the quiet, unassuming way that never asked for anything in return.

Without thinking, he turned and headed toward the study, his mind already shifting to the one person who could always calm him down: Edwin Jarvis.

The older man had been with the Stark family longer than Tony could remember, and he'd been a constant in Tony's life—a steady presence in a world that often felt anything but. It was Jarvis who had been there when Tony had taken his first steps, who had shown him how to tinker with machines before he could even tie his shoes. More than that, it was Jarvis who had always been there when things got tough, never pushing too hard, but always offering the kind of advice that made everything seem a little clearer.

Tony found him in the study, sitting at his desk, the same calm and collected figure he had always been. Jarvis wasn't just a butler; he was family. And right now, Tony felt like he needed family more than ever.

"Jarvis," Tony said softly, his voice carrying the weight of everything he had just heard from his father. "Can I talk to you?"

Jarvis looked up from his papers, his expression unreadable, but there was a warmth in his eyes as he motioned for Tony to sit. "Of course, Master Tony. What's on your mind?"

Tony didn't sit. Instead, he stood there for a moment, trying to find the right words. The anger from earlier still lingered, but now there was a sense of confusion, of hurt. "I don't know what to make of it, Jarvis. My whole life, I've been told that everything I did—everything I built—was because I was 'doing it my way.' But now, I find out that everything was... everything was part of some bigger plan, some secret organization I knew nothing about. My father's been hiding it all from me."

He let out a frustrated breath and finally sank into the chair across from Jarvis. "And that's the thing—he's been hiding it, hiding me from it, like I wasn't supposed to be a part of it. And I can't figure out if it's because he didn't trust me, or if he was just trying to protect me from whatever it is he's been involved with."

Jarvis remained silent for a moment, his hands folding calmly in front of him. His voice was gentle, but there was an unmistakable depth to it. "I can understand why you're feeling this way, Master Tony. Your father has always had a unique way of showing love—his methods may not always make sense, but his intentions were never to push you away."

Tony's eyes narrowed, a mix of skepticism and curiosity. "That's what he says. But you don't know what it's like. He was always so focused on what was 'best' for me, on what he thought I needed, that I never had a chance to decide for myself. I was always second to whatever this was. S.H.I.E.L.D., secret tech, some government stuff... I don't even know what's real anymore."

Jarvis nodded slowly, as though weighing his words carefully. "Master Tony, I've known you for many years, and I know your father better than most. I think you should take a step back before making any decisions. What you're feeling now, while valid, is shaped by the shock of learning the truth. But I know Howard Stark, and I can tell you that he wasn't trying to shield you because he didn't trust you. He was shielding you because he wanted to give you a choice—a chance to find your own path without the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Tony exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "It doesn't feel like it, Jarvis. It feels like he's been controlling my life, telling me what's best for me without ever letting me in on the bigger picture. And now I have to wonder... what else has he kept from me? What else have I been blind to?"

Jarvis stood up from his desk, his movements as measured and steady as ever, and walked over to Tony. He placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, a comforting gesture that spoke volumes more than words could. "I cannot speak for everything your father has done, but I can tell you this—he has always been proud of you, Tony. He just wanted you to have the freedom to be who you are, without the burden of the things he's carried for so long."

Tony looked up at Jarvis, his expression a mix of confusion and pain. "So what do I do now? How do I move past this? I don't even know where to start."

Jarvis smiled, though it was small, and placed his hand back in his pocket. "Take some time to think. Your father is a complicated man, as you well know. But in time, you'll find a way to make sense of all this. And when you're ready, when the anger has faded, you can talk to him. I'm sure he would welcome it."

Tony nodded slowly, his mind still spinning, but he felt a little more grounded with Jarvis there, offering a sense of clarity amid the storm of his thoughts. "Thanks, Jarvis."

"Anytime, Master Tony," Jarvis replied, his voice full of the kind of calm reassurance Tony needed.

As Tony stood up to leave, he felt a strange mix of gratitude and uncertainty. He wasn't sure what the next step would be, but for the first time in days, he felt like he wasn't completely alone in trying to make sense of it all.

—

A few days had passed since that sparring match, and Harry couldn't seem to shake the feeling that had settled in his chest after the training session with Natasha. It wasn't just the adrenaline from the fight or the thrill of victory (or his near defeat, depending on who you asked). No, it was something else entirely.

His mind kept returning to the way Natasha's eyes had softened when she'd pinned him, the teasing words now echoing in his thoughts, laced with something else—something he couldn't quite put his finger on. And then there was the way she'd looked at him afterward, as if she were searching for something in him, something beyond the banter, something deeper. He hadn't imagined that look, had he?

The truth was, since waking up in this new body, things had been... complicated. He had memories of his childhood, his time with the Dursleys, the people he'd loved and lost, and everything in between. But now, in this new skin—this taller, older body—things felt different. His emotions were different. His experiences with people were different. He wasn't the same person, but sometimes, the weight of what he had been before seemed to hang over him like a ghost.

Natasha had always been close to him. Back when he was a kid, trapped by Hydra, she had been a constant presence. She was patient, kind, even in the harshest of circumstances. She had trained him, guided him, and yes—there had been moments where he had looked up to her as if she were a sister. But that was before.

Now, everything was in flux. His body was older, stronger, faster. The serum had changed him in ways he still didn't fully understand, and his feelings were tangled, confusing. He didn't know what to do with them.

And that's when it hit him: he needed to talk to someone.

There was only one person he trusted enough to help him figure this all out—someone who had, in the months since they reunited, had become his rock. Someone who knew him better than anyone, even if she had only known him either as a baby, or in this form.

He made his way to the living room, where the rest of the team was either napping or out and about, and slipped quietly into a corner. The old fireplace crackled softly in the background, but his thoughts were far away. His hand brushed over the pendant around his neck—the one that had once belonged to his mother.

It wasn't long before he felt the familiar warmth of her presence. Harry didn't need to say anything. The magical bond between them, the one that had always been there, was enough.

"Mom?" he said quietly, his voice faltering slightly as he summoned her from wherever she resided in his heart and memories.

There was a pause, and then her voice filled his mind, soft and comforting, as it always was. "Harry, sweetheart. You're troubled. What's on your mind?"

He hesitated, unsure of how to start. His feelings were so muddled, and this was far from a simple conversation. But Lily was patient, always had been, and he knew she wouldn't judge him.

"I—" Harry swallowed, struggling to find the words. "I've been... thinking about Natasha. And I don't know how to deal with it. It's different now, Mom. It's not like it was before."

Lily was silent for a moment, and Harry's heart raced as he waited. "What do you mean, Harry?" Her voice was gentle, encouraging.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. "When I was... younger, when I was a kid—Natasha, she trained me, she was like a sister to me. We were close. I looked up to her. But now, now that I'm... this," he gestured to his body, though Lily couldn't see it, "I don't know. I feel things that I don't think I'm supposed to. Things that... aren't brotherly."

Lily's voice was soothing, but there was a thread of concern in it. "It's natural, Harry. Your body may have changed, but your heart still holds the memories of the past. And now, you're facing feelings that are new to you. It's difficult, I know. But don't let confusion cloud your heart. You need to be honest with yourself, first and foremost."

"I don't even know what I'm feeling," Harry admitted, his voice raw. "I just... I can't stop thinking about her, and I feel guilty because I shouldn't. She's always been like family, but now..."

"Now, you're growing into something more than you were before. You're seeing things in a new light, and it's not wrong to feel the way you do, Harry. Love doesn't always come neatly packaged in a way we can easily understand. Sometimes, the lines blur."

He closed his eyes, the weight of her words sinking in. "But what if it ruins everything? What if I push her away by being... this?"

Lily's voice softened, almost like a caress. "If she truly cares for you, she will understand. You need to be honest with her, and with yourself. Don't be afraid of your emotions. You've been through so much, Harry, and you deserve happiness. Whatever that may look like."

Harry exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. He knew she was right. But still, the idea of confronting Natasha with these feelings—after everything they had been through—felt terrifying.

"You think I should tell her?" he asked quietly.

Lily's voice was warm with maternal wisdom. "When you're ready. When you understand what you're truly feeling, and when you're ready to face it. But remember, Harry, there's no shame in love. Only in pretending it doesn't exist."

Harry sat there for a long while after, lost in thought. His feelings for Natasha weren't just a passing phase, a side effect of the serum or his age. No, they were real. And now, with his mother's guidance, he could see that it wasn't something to be afraid of. It was something to explore, to embrace—even if it came with its own set of challenges.

For the first time in days, Harry felt like he could breathe again. He didn't have all the answers yet, but for now, that was enough.

—

Harry spent the next few days walking a tightrope between his growing feelings for Natasha and the nagging doubt that threatened to unravel everything. Each time she looked at him with that same playful smirk, that same teasing glint in her eyes, his heart would do that strange, irritating flip-flop. The more he tried to ignore it, the more it consumed him.

He hadn't told anyone about his feelings—especially not Natasha. And yet, the universe seemed to conspire to make it more difficult to avoid her. It wasn't just the way she'd taken care of him in those dark days or the comfort of her presence. It was the subtle shifts in their dynamic since he'd come back to life in this new, older body. She was different with him now. Or maybe he was different with her. It was hard to say.

Every sparring match, every casual conversation, felt laced with tension now. And that only made Harry more certain he needed to have a conversation with her. One way or another, it had to happen.

The night before, after training, he'd caught her watching him for a little too long—her gaze softer than usual, contemplative. And when she'd left the room without saying a word, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting between them, just out of reach, like a thread that might unravel everything if either of them pulled on it.

But today, today was different. Today, Harry had decided he would face it head-on. He couldn't keep dodging this, not if it meant losing himself in confusion. The plan was simple—catch her before she slipped away for her usual evening patrol, talk things through, and hopefully avoid ruining everything.

He found her in the small courtyard behind the safehouse, leaning against the brick wall, a cup of coffee in her hands as she stared at the setting sun. The faint orange light bathed the scene in a warm glow, and for a moment, Harry forgot about everything. It was just him and Natasha—no distractions, no Hydra, no team.

He cleared his throat, walking up slowly. Natasha didn't turn to look at him right away, but her posture straightened, and Harry could feel her awareness of him.

"Natasha," he said, his voice careful, unsure.

She tilted her head slightly, acknowledging his presence. "Harry," she said simply, her voice light but laced with that hint of something deeper.

There it was again. That weight between them, hanging in the air like smoke.

"I—uh, I wanted to talk," Harry continued, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His usual confidence was a little frayed today. "About... well, about us."

Natasha didn't say anything for a long moment, but he could see her eyes studying him carefully now, sharper than before.

"Go on," she said softly, her voice oddly calm.

Harry hesitated. How could he even begin? This was so much more than words. But he had to try. He had to push through the awkwardness.

"I've been feeling... strange," he began, trying to keep his voice steady. "I mean, since I woke up, and especially since you and I started sparring again." He felt like an idiot saying it out loud, but there was no other way around it. "Things have changed, and I can't ignore it anymore."

Natasha's eyes softened, and her expression became unreadable. She took a slow sip from her coffee, her fingers curling around the warm mug like she was giving herself a moment to collect her thoughts. Harry's heart pounded in his chest. This was it.

"Harry," she said quietly, her voice carrying an edge of something that sounded almost... familiar. "I think I know exactly what you're talking about."

His stomach dropped. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? His mouth went dry, but he managed to speak. "You do?"

She turned slightly to face him, her gaze unwavering. "You think you're the only one who feels confused about all of this?"

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Natasha, the Black Widow herself—the one who always had her walls up, who never let anything slip—was dealing with the same feelings.

She continued, her voice low, almost hesitant. "Harry, when you... changed—it wasn't just your body. Something shifted between us, too. And I've been trying to make sense of it ever since. But I couldn't bring myself to say anything. Not until I was sure it wasn't just me." Her lips curved up into a half-smile, but there was no humor in it. "And maybe, just maybe, you were feeling the same way."

Harry stood there for a moment, completely caught off guard, his mind racing to process everything she'd just said. So, it wasn't just him. She felt it, too.

A nervous laugh escaped him, a sound he hadn't expected to make. "I thought I was going insane," he admitted, his voice slightly strained. "I kept telling myself it wasn't supposed to be this way. You were... you were like family, Nat. And now, I don't know what to think anymore. I just know that every time I see you, I can't... I can't shake this feeling. And I don't want to ruin everything between us, you know?"

There was a long silence between them, thick with the weight of their shared uncertainty. Natasha finally set her coffee cup down on the ledge beside her, her gaze softening even more as she stepped closer to him.

"You're not ruining anything, Harry," she said gently. "I've been wondering the same thing. But if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you don't do anything halfway. You never have. If this is something we need to figure out, we'll figure it out together."

Her words were like a balm to his anxious mind. A quiet relief settled over him as he looked into her eyes, finally feeling like maybe—just maybe—he wasn't alone in this.

"Yeah?" he asked, a tentative hope in his voice.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Yeah." Then, after a beat, she added with a smirk, "Besides, you're going to need all the help you can get if you want to keep up with me."

Harry's heart thudded loudly in his chest, but this time, it wasn't from confusion or anxiety. It was something else—something warm and unfamiliar. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself feel it. The weight of the moment—the unspoken truth between them—wasn't so terrifying anymore.

Maybe they didn't have all the answers, but they'd figure it out. Together.

—

A few days had passed since Tony's conversation with Jarvis, and the storm of confusion, anger, and uncertainty had settled, but it hadn't dissipated completely. The questions still lingered in his mind like unwelcome guests, refusing to leave, demanding answers. What did it all mean? And what was he supposed to do with the information he had now?

For the first time in years, Tony found himself sitting in his father's study—Howard's study—the very room that had been the epicenter of so many of his memories growing up. The smell of aged wood and leather mixed with the faint scent of cigars that still lingered, reminders of a time when Tony had walked in this room with nothing but admiration for the man who had always been just out of reach.

He sat behind Howard's desk, fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood. His thoughts churned as he stared at the sleek, cold, metallic objects scattered around the room—gadgets, blueprints, inventions that had always fascinated him. But this time, it felt different. This time, they felt like relics of a world he wasn't sure he belonged to anymore.

He had gone over it in his mind a hundred times. The revelations about S.H.I.E.L.D., the secretive projects, the pieces of a puzzle that never quite fit. But now, with time to reflect, one thing became clear: if he was going to make sense of any of this, if he was going to understand what his father had been a part of, he couldn't do it from the outside. He needed to be in the thick of it.

And so, he was here, standing in front of the most complicated person in his life, ready to have a conversation he had avoided for years.

The door to the study opened, and there stood Howard Stark, older now, but still the same larger-than-life figure that Tony had spent most of his life resenting. The man's sharp gaze landed on Tony with that familiar, dispassionate scrutiny. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, Howard broke the silence.

"You're here," he said simply, crossing the room with a slow, deliberate gait. "I didn't think you'd come."

Tony had spent years dreaming of this moment—years rehearsing every word he might say to his father. But now that it was real, the words felt stuck in his throat. He cleared his throat and forced himself to speak.

"I've been thinking," Tony began, his voice low, measured. "I need to be part of it, Dad. I want to be involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. I want to know what you've been doing, what it all means. I want to be a part of whatever this is."

Howard's brow furrowed, his expression unreadable as he took a step back. "Tony, I didn't think you'd be interested in the kind of work I've been involved with. It's dangerous. It's not something I ever wanted you to be burdened with."

Tony couldn't help but laugh, a bitter sound that felt foreign even to his own ears. "You're always doing that. Protecting me. Shielding me from things that might be too difficult for me to handle. I've spent my whole life fighting against that. I don't need you to protect me anymore, Dad. I need to understand it. I need to be part of the bigger picture."

For a moment, Howard just stared at him, his expression softening. It was the first time Tony had ever seen that kind of vulnerability in his father, and it threw him off guard. Howard had always been a man of control, never letting anything slip, never allowing anyone to see him as anything less than the genius billionaire inventor he had built himself up to be.

"You think you're ready for this, Tony?" Howard asked, his voice softer now, but still tinged with that guarded edge. "This isn't the kind of work you can just walk into without consequences. People get hurt. Things go wrong. You can't just play with the toys and leave the rest behind."

Tony leaned forward, eyes burning with determination. "I've always been good at fixing things, right? So let me fix this. Let me fix the mess you've made. I can handle it."

Howard sighed, looking at him for a long moment as if trying to weigh the truth of Tony's words. Finally, he spoke, his voice a little quieter than before.

"Alright, Tony. You want in? You're in. But this isn't a game. And it's not just about tinkering with machines and making headlines. There's more to this than you think. And if you're really ready, if you're really willing to face what's coming, then we'll talk. But you need to understand this: once you're in, there's no turning back."

Tony nodded, his resolve unwavering. "I understand. I'm ready."

Howard studied him for a moment longer, then reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, sleek device—something Tony had seen before but never fully understood. He handed it to Tony without a word.

"This is a key," Howard said, his voice firm. "It'll give you access to everything. The plans, the tech, the people. But it's up to you how you use it."

Tony took the device, the weight of it settling heavily in his hand. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he was holding onto something that could change everything—something that would give him a shot at answering all the questions he'd had for so long.

He stood up, meeting his father's gaze for the first time in what felt like forever. "Thanks, Dad," he said quietly, but with conviction.

Howard nodded once, his expression unreadable but somehow softer than before. "Don't thank me yet. You've still got a long way to go."

As Tony turned to leave, the gravity of the decision hit him all at once. He was in. And he had no idea what the next chapter of his life would look like. But for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was ready to face whatever came next.

---

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