absolutely stunning aesthetic by the wonderful deanxmon . Thank you!

~~~

A cool breeze blew through the trees, tickling Morgan's skin like a soft feather, little goosebumps emerging along the length of her small arms. She sat upon her father's lap, the back of her head resting gently on his chest as his hand wrapped around her own, holding the metal skewer within the base of the roaring flames. The smell of smoke was thick in the air as the father and daughter sat together on a tree stump outside their house.

Morgan giggled as her dad pulled the stick from the fire, leaving the marshmallow aflame. "See, that's how you want em', nice and toasty," her father spoke to her. He readjusted his daughter on his lap as he brought the skewer closer to their faces. Morgan could feel the heat radiating from the tiny flames, and she was mesmerized by the beauty of the orange glow. "Here, blow out together." Together they both huffed, and just like that, the lapping yellow flames vanished, leaving a black, ashy-looking marshmallow in its wake.

"Daddy, it's burnt!" Morgan whined, trying to grab at the roasted treat.

"Well that's the only way to eat them, Maguna. They're best when they're nice and ashy and burnt to a crisp."

"Ew," Morgan cringed as her dad removed the marshmallow from the stick and popped it easily into his mouth.

"See, delicious." The look of doubt written across the little girl's face must've told her dad that she wasn't amused, in which he responded, "Alright, go get another one from Mom. We can make one more."

"Yay!" she eagerly hopped off his lap and dashed through the tall grass to the picnic bench where her mother was breaking up the graham crackers. The crickets chirped among the darkness, the only visible light being the glowing stars above and the sizzling fire behind Morgan.

"Mommy!" Morgan exclaimed as she came bounding up to her mother.

"Yes peanut?" the blonde answered, continuing to break apart the crackers.

"Daddy said I could have one more!"

Her mom paused to place her hands on her hips. "Oh he did, did he? Well, I don't know, you've had a lot of sugar tonight."

"Mommmmmmmmyyy!" Morgan pouted, her face falling into a frown. "Pweeeeeaase?" she pleaded hopefully, clasping her hands together.

With a roll of her cerulean eyes, her mother finally agreed. "Alright, one more, but that's it, okay?"

"Yay!" the little girl bounced up and down, eagerly taking the marshmallow from her mother's hand. She turned to run away when her mom called after her,

"Morgan, manners!"

The tiny brunette stopped in her tracks and peeked over her shoulder, forgetting what her mom had told her about having good manners. "Thank you Mommy!"

She could hear her mother's voice trail behind her as she darted back to her dad. "Hey, be careful running in the dark! You don't want to fall!"

"Mhm!" she squealed as she came back round the fire, the open flames welcoming her with their warmth.

Her father awaited her, ready to take the marshmallow from her to puncture it on the skewer. "Is Mom giving you a hard time?"

"Uhuh," she responded.

"Yeah, she gives me a hard time too, you're not the only one."

"Really?" Morgan's mom came round the corner suddenly, taking them both by surprise. "We're all just going to gang up on Mommy now?" she finished, sitting down on a log next to her family.

Her father shrugged. "The truth hurts!"

The mother laughed into her hands, shaking her head. "You two are unbelievable."

"That's why you love us," Morgan giggled, in which both her parents chuckled at her witty response.

It had taken Morgan a minute to register that she still hadn't roasted her last marshmallow, so after a moment of silence fell upon the three, she proceeded to attempt at grabbing the skewer from her dad.

"Daddy I no finish," she whined, using her dad's knee as leverage as she hopped in attempt to snatch the skewer.

"Nah ah ah," the older brunette chided, pulling the stick away.

"I want to do it myself!" she protested, climbing all over her dad's lap to try to take the skewer from him, marshmallow still secure in her other hand.

"Sorry little goon, not yet. Mommy would kill me if you got burnt on my watch."

"That's absolutely right," her mom added.

Morgan pushed her bottom lip forwards in a pouting frown, crossing her arms over her chest. "No! I wanna do it!"

"She gets that from you, you know," the girl's mom reminded her husband with a sly smile.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm aware," he responded. Morgan was clearly determined to gain some independence and was treating roasting a marshmallow as if it were some sacred rite of passage.

"I'm a big girl, I can do it!" she grumbled frustratingly, stamping her foot with impatience.

Her father's eyes lit up as a light bulb went off in his head, deciding on having a little fun instead. "Alright, fine, you win . . . you can do it by yourself, but only if you can catch me!"

With that, he took off from the log, leaving a giggling daughter and a smiling mom in his wake.

"Come and get me, Maguna!" he teased.

The little girl took off after her dad, now nothing but grins and giggles. She was focused on getting that stick.

They chased each other in circles, Morgan in hot pursuit of his dad who was probably running slow on purpose. "You'll never catch me!" he breathed, already sounding tired.

When Morgan finally caught up to her dad and tackled his legs, wrapping her arms snugly around them, he stopped running. "Alright, you got me," he panted, out of breath. He patted his girl on the back before he picked her up, slinging her over one arm with an audible groan. "God, I'm too old for this."

"I caught you, so I get to do it by myself now!" the little girl celebrated.

"Sure, kiddo. Let's see how your mom takes that."

However, the duo was surprised to find the older mother with a content smile painted across her delicate features. Her face appeared to glow among the orange flames, blonde hair catching the light in beautiful shimmering waves. A smile rubbed against her face, tugging at the corners of her eyes and causing her brow to wrinkle just slightly.

Morgan's dad quietly put the marshmallow on the skewer for her after setting her down, before softly instructing her of what to do. His entire demeanor had changed, from playful to serious, and his formerly teasing smile softened. Approaching his wife, he took a seat next to her, slowly rubbing her back with relaxed comfort.

While Morgan stood away from the flames, pointing the stick down towards the base of the fire like her dad had shown her, she watched with a blank expression as her parents snuggled close together. Her father had taken her mother under his arm as she was drawn in close between his embrace. Another smile graced both of their faces before they kissed, lips meeting lovingly and pressing for a brief moment.

Normally, Morgan would've puckered in disgust and ran the other direction, but there was something about the moment that told Morgan it was best to stay put – the placid yet raw sincerity her two parents emitted silently instructed her to stay quiet. So she did just that, pretending to take no notice of her parents cuddled together on the tree stump.

When the peaceful silence fell among them, hearing nothing but the crackling fire and the low chirp of crickets in the background, Morgan heard her father speak admirably. "What could I possibly have done to deserve you two?" he spoke so faintly that Morgan could barely hear above the hiss of the flames.

Morgan watched in silence as her mom smiled weakly, before whispering something in her father's ear that was only audible to him. He returned the joyful grin, his eyes closing as he pulled his wife closer and placed a kiss on her head.

"I love you girls more than anything, you know that right?" he murmured as Morgan came to rest on her parents' lap, happily gobbling down her final s'more.

"Yeah, we love you too Daddy," Morgan responded happily, lining the palm of her hand up with her father's. Compared to his, her hand was petite and fragile, in stark contrast to his calloused, rough one.

"Yes we do," her mother chimed in, leaning her head against her husband's shoulder. Morgan smiled as her dad wrapped the two of them in his strong yet gentle arms.

The daughter felt warm and safe under her father's embrace; she felt loved and cared for - something that, to a four-year-old, would essentially mean nothing at all; but as time inched by, Morgan would grow to cherish every moment she had spent in her father's arms.

The little girl was yet to understand it at that time, but that night would be the last time they made s'mores as a family. Really, the last time altogether - it would never be the same following that near perfect night, so the mother and daughter had reached the mutual agreement to end the weekly tradition.

A tear slid silently down Morgan Stark's cheek as she turned over in bed, burying her face in the warmth blankets. She wept in silence.

It was two-thirty in the morning, and she was yet to fall asleep. In all honesty, the past week and a half had been difficult for Morgan and her family; these past few days marked the eleven-year anniversary of Tony Stark's sacrifice. While Morgan couldn't recall everything about her dad, she remembered moments - minutes that she had spent with her father as a family that meant more than anything else.

People thought her crazy; told her she shouldn't be nearly as sad as she was - after all, she had barely known him, right? They were wrong.

She had known him, she remembered him - the warmth of his embrace and the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled; all the nicknames he would call her and all the games they would play outside; the time he'd taken to show her his Iron Man armor, and the candy he'd sneak to her behind her mom's back.

Most of all, though, she remembered every single story he had told her - tales of aliens and epic battles, and stories of the Great Captain America and the Incredible Hulk, and how he too, had been a part of the Avengers once, a lifetime ago.

She remembered being awestruck, eyes as wide as saucers as she intently gave ear to her father's stories as his soft voice hummed lowly through the nighttime silence. Remembered the rush of adrenaline that ran through her as her dad would playful shove and spook her as he retold his stories – stories that she, at the time, had thought were fairytales, oblivious to the fact that everything he was telling her directly pertained to his own life.

She was entitled, more so than most people, to grieve. She had a right to be sad.

A shiver ran down her spine, sending cool tendrils of goosebumps up and down her skin. She wasn't cold - it was the middle of October, and it was literally seventy degrees. Yet somehow, the room around Morgan seemed eerily cold, as if something dark and mysterious had crept from the shadows and extended its frigid hands out to touch her.

She sank in her bed, trying vainly to conceal her tears from sight, although no one was around to witness them; she had to hide it from herself.

Just as her cries subsided, and her eyes began the long process of drying, the sound of her cell phone rang shrilly throughout the room, startling the brunette to the point of sitting up straight in surprise. Once she recognized the ringtone to be 'Bad' by Michael Jackson, she twisted over to the other side of the bed with a heavy sigh.

"What on earth are you doing up?"

"I could ask the same of you," Morgan's best friend Nate's voice rang from the other end of the phone.

A weak laugh left the Stark, as she clicked on her bedside lamp, sitting crisscross applesauce on the comforter. She sniffled lightly as the two fell into comfortable silence, both knowing just exactly why Morgan was wide awake at such an hour. Nate was concerned for his friend, probably more so than what was healthy for his own self. Morgan appreciated it, she really did, but sometimes being alone was the only remedy for heartache.

"Hey," Hawkeye's son spoke sternly. "I think we both know why you're awake this early. How are you doing?"

"No, I . . . I'm fine. I was just . . . getting some water from downstairs. Couldn't sleep." Morgan mentally cursed herself; her voice was groggy, and she sounded congested, making it obvious that she had been crying.

A scoff sounded from the other end of the phone, signaling Morgan that Nate had heard the way she tripped over her words. He wasn't stupid enough to fall for her weak attempt at a trick. "I've known you long enough to know that only one of the things you just said is true," he responded nonchalantly.

"Whatever," she mumbled, fiddling with a stray string on her mattress. "Seriously, I'll be fine, I always am. You know that by now."

"No, Morgan. You're never fine, as you and I both know. You may be better at hiding it from yourself, but you can't hide it from me."

The Stark sighed heavily, closing her eyes for a moment as tears threatened to strike again. She knew he was right. He usually was, unfortunately. Most people were, when it came to this type of thing; she could just never confess that to herself.

It took another moment before Morgan could form words again, her voice temporarily caught in her throat as she fought the oncoming urge to cry, yet again. This....this feeling of weakness and vulnerability was one she hated. Morgan despised feeling so helpless and being seen as this frail, little girl that couldn't live her life without a dad; as if no one else in the world didn't have a dad, or mom, for that matter – people went through exactly what she had.

Deciding to change the subject, Morgan coughed over the phone, "yeah, well what about you? Why are you up so late, huh?"

"Morgan, stop trying to change the subject."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't make me do it, Organ,"

"Try me, Tate."

"Fine, but you asked for it. You know that I know that you have a crush on my brother."

"I do NOT!" Morgan half-shouted and half-laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she giggled. "I do not have a crush on Cooper, for the millionth time. We've been over this, why are you so persistent?"

"Uhuh," Nate spoke doubtfully over the phone, sounding totally unconvinced. "Not according to Cassie."

Morgan scoffed. "And since when has Cassie Lang ever told the truth?"

"Fair point, but even when she's lying, she's eventually always right."

"Mm, that's true," she replies with a light chuckle. Cassie Lang was unquestionably the most immature adult Morgan had ever encountered, second only to Harley, of course. She was basically a kid at heart, and Morgan had always adored her childish and friendly personality; still, she had somehow assumed the role as "leader" of the younger "apprentice" Avengers. "I'll never forget when she made that stupid bet with her dad that Peter couldn't stick to a non-stick pan, and she ended up being right."

A chuckle rang from the other end of the line. "I remember that, pretty sure Parker still has the bruises to prove it."

Morgan and Nate both fell into laughter before the sound of shuffling footsteps was heard just outside Morgan's bedroom door. "Aaaaaand my mom's awake." Of course she is. She's probably up for the same reason I am.

Morgan didn't have time to hang up the phone before her blonde, aging mother was lightly pushing the door open, her eyes baggy and her shoulders slumped. "Morgan, why are you still up?"

The daughter was quick to hang up the phone afterwards, clicking it off and toying with it between her hands - she would call Nate back later. "Couldn't sleep I guess."

Pepper's eyebrows knitted together in concern; her piercing blue eyes filled with worry as she tilted her head at her daughter. She invited herself in, taking a seat next to Morgan as she nudged the brunette's legs aside. She met Morgan's eyes slowly, watching her as she shifted upon the bed. Morgan was first to break eye contact, though, feeling small under the solemn gaze of her mother. She shrank inwardly, feeling uncomfortable as the silence lingered.

"It's almost three in the morning, honey," her mom pointed out, tilting her head at the girl. "And you know we're heading to the compound tomorrow at eight. You need your rest."

"So do you, Mom. You don't have to worry about me, I'm fine, fifteen-year-olds practically survive on two hours of sleep."

Her mom's face lifted in slight amusement, as she stifled a small chuckle. "Morgan, you're notorious for pulling all-nighters; something I wish you hadn't inherited from your father." Morgan laughed, falling backwards on the bed as she ran her hands across her face. "But you need some sleep. Actual sleep. You have a long day tomorrow, from the sound of it."

"Ugh. Lucky me," she grumbled.

"Not only you, honey, I've got to be there too," Pepper added with a small giggle. "Who were you talking to?" was her next inquiry, changing the subject. Morgan knew her mom wouldn't be mad at her for staying up on her phone this late given the situation; under any other circumstance, Morgan's phone would be gone faster than you could say drop-your-socks-and-grap-your-crocks.

"Nate," she replied casually.

Her mom shot her a sly smirk, her tired eyes twinkling with mischief. "Nate, huh? You two are always talking..."

Once again, Morgan was laughing as she rolled her eyes. "Mom, please. It's not like that. I've known him since I was literally four."

"And? That just makes it even more perfect."

"God, you're worse than Cassie!" Morgan gapes with a broad smile. "We're friends, you know that. Why is everyone always so caught up in my love life?"

At that, her mother chuckled heartily. Then, with a doubtful smile, her mother shrugged. "Whatever you say dear. But you two have always been close-"

Her daughter cast her a very unamused look, which caused Pepper to laugh. "Fine, fine, that's all I'm saying."

Just as silence crept back into the room, the widowed mother's voice sliced the quiet like a knife, her words slow and sad.

It became apparent to Morgan as Pepper was speaking, that she'd taken notice to her puffy eyes and weak posture; it was clear, she knew - her mom was always able to read her like a book, which, at times, was really damn annoying.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" she decided, which Morgan appreciated – Pepper didn't have to say his name directly to know that's what was on her daughter's mind.

"Okay, I think," came her quiet response as she sniffled softly. Her eyes fell to the mattress, fiddling with the same string from before, tugging on it until it snapped. "It's just weird, you know? I've heard a lot of people say that I'm being a little overdramatic about everything."

"Hey," her mom cut her off quickly. "You most certainly have a right to be upset. He was your dad, for God's sake. You're entitled." She continued, "and half the people who say those things have nothing better to do with their lives; in the grand scheme of things, they're insignificant to you, okay? They don't matter."

"Yeah but, I-" Morgan struggled to move forwards, as she found tears in her eyes again. Sitting up straight, she tucked her hair behind her ear before lifting her head, a stray tear falling silently off her cheek. "-I was so young."

"Oh Morgan, stop it, you're making me cry," the blonde chuckled with sadness, wiping her eyes that glittered in the light of Morgan's nightstand.

"I'm sorry," she laughed in response, leaning in and hugging her tightly, crying silently into her shoulder, as she felt her mother doing the same. After a pause, she murmured, "I miss him."

"Me too, honey. Every day. But you know why he did it – there was no other way to make sure he could keep us safe; he did it to protect the people he loved." Attempting to hide her irritation, Morgan smiled. For as long as her dad had been gone, she'd always heard the same, exact, thing – "He did it for you," and, "it's okay, he just wanted to make sure you were in the safest hands." But Morgan was raised with the familiarity and certainty that the hands of her parents, both of them, were the safest. When she was with her mom and dad, no one could do her any harm. She was happy back then, whereas happiness now just seemed to be getting harder and harder to come by the more time passed.

So, when people pathetically searched for an explanation that would simply shut up a crying toddler, they'd tell her that – "he did it for you. Don't be so selfish."

It was unsettling. It wasn't an answer; it wasn't a reason why he'd done what he did. It was an excuse. Everyone she encountered sympathized her and her family. Heck, the entire world seemed to have this life-long, permanent pity for the entire Stark name. It was annoying, sure, but continually frustrating.

Morgan hugged her mother tight, squeezing her eyes together so hard that it hurt. Her mom was always there for her; no matter what was bothering Morgan, Pepper was always there. For all the times her dad couldn't be, the CEO of SI would try her absolute best to fill his shoes.

On Morgan's first birthday without Tony, she was there; every night Morgan had nightmares, she was there; when Morgan struggled at school, she was there; it was an endless cycle, one that the younger Stark would forever be thankful for. Morgan respected her mother's strength. "I love you Mom."

"I love you too, sweetheart." When they finally separated, Pepper took her by the shoulders. "Now come on, get some sleep. We're seeing the team early tomorrow. They miss yours truly."

"Ha. Ha," she laughed, drying her eyes with her flannel pajamas. "What are we supposed to do tomorrow, anyway?"

Her mom shrugged as she stood up and stepped to the door, pausing as her daughter asked the question. "I'm not quite sure. Peter said something about renovating the lab. Something to do with installing EDITH into the building's security system."

"Okay, cool." The young Stark dismissed the thought with a small shrug. After the Avengers facility was blown to hell during the final battle against Thanos, the government and United Nations settled on reconstructing the building, and with the support of Stark Industries and SHIELD, all 193 countries agreed to fund the project. Really, in the aftermath of The Mad Titan, it had been a unanimous decision - while there were some who still chose to oppose the Avengers, most recognized the superiority and importance of the team; the way they managed universal threats and protected not only their planet, but all of celestial existence. They were a force to be reckoned with.

So, in its wake, a brand-new facility was constructed, built on the foundations of the original. And in the center of it all was a large marble carving of the iron man helmet positioned in the middle of a huge fountain, engraved with the words, "One Last Sacrifice." The eyes of the helmet glowed bright blue just like the suit had, but from above, the fountain formed the shape of Natasha Romanoff's Black Widow hourglass.

Morgan only distantly remembered her Aunt Natasha – she knew that her and her dad had been close, but there were only a few times (that she could remember, at least) where the Avenger had visited the Stark cabin. But based on what she did remember, and what she had been told, Morgan really wished she could've gotten to know her more.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Pepper spoke again, capturing her attention. "Oh, he also mentioned that we need to be at a group meeting at ten. Apparently the entire team will be there."

The brunette's brows lifted in surprise. She certainly didn't remember Peter texting her about a group meeting - and she was quite shocked because of it. There were hardly any group meetings, and even when there were, it was rare to see that every Avenger - old and new - was in attendance. Even then, Peter or Harley would've told her about it.

"Really? What's all that about?"

"He wouldn't say," Pepper sighed tiredly. After a moment's pause, she continued with a yawn, "alright, I'm going to head back to bed. Try to get some sleep, okay? I'm right down the hall if you need me."

Morgan offered a smile. "Okay mom, see you in the morning. Goodnight."

"Goodnight Morgan."

She sat in bed for several minutes after her mother left, settling on texting Nate goodnight and scrolling through Instagram before she clicked off her light and plugged in her phone.

As she lay in the dark, staring blankly at the ceiling with her hands behind her head, she spoke to FRIDAY, "Hey FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Miss Maguna?"

Morgan laughed quietly to herself. When she was little, her dad had many, many nicknames for her - but Maguna always seemed to be the most popular one, so much so that Tony had programmed FRIDAY to address her as "Maguna" instead of "Morgan." Even now, she couldn't bring herself to change it.

"Set an alarm for seven o'clock."

"Of course. Alarm set for Monday, October 9th, at 7 AM."

"Thanks FRIDAY," the daughter yawned as she pulled the sheets up to her shoulders, snuggling into her pillow.

Eventually, the tug of sleep coaxed her gently into as peaceful of a state as she could be in, finally drifting off with memories of her family playing through her head. 

~~~

I'M ALIIIIIVEVEVEVEVEVEV

THERE YOU HAVE IT! THE FIRST, ANTI CLIMATIC CHAPTER!

listen okay, I promise that this story, along with the paintbrush thief, will start to swing into motion; to me, the most difficult part about writing a book is the first chapter...i never know where to start and how to introduce everything and what's too much or too little and blah....its hard work.

I hope this strikes your fancy even though it's not my best work, I just felt like I owe you guys.

Today's dedication is to aLittleBitOfHiddles , for convincing me partly to start this story, and for writing one of her own. Please check out her work!

I have so so so so so so so so much planned for this story, that it will eventually/hopefully branch out into several different books.

Love you 3000~