little piece of heaven (tony stark's daughter)

23

Rosie's p.o.v

Weeks pass and literally nothing happens. It gets to the point where I begin to wonder whether I am crazy and imagined the whole thing.

And so I relax, because it's probably fine. Maybe mom is angry but that doesn't mean she's going to murder me. I need to stop being irrational. It's bad for my health.

"You coming out of your cave tonight?".

I roll my eyes at my father's characteristic quip as his form appears in my doorway. We've not really crossed paths in the past few days; I've been sleeping off a Steven Universe marathon and he's been in the lab with Uncle Bruce, "Says you".

He laughs a little, stepping into my room fully "whilst you were sleeping, I was working on world peace." a smirk forms on his face.

"How's that going for you?" I raise an eyebrow, the irony of the situation is comical. This is the man who literally used to sell weapons, "Putting yourself and your daughter out of a job doesn't sound too clever".

"The greater good, Rooster" he smirks, sitting at the end of my bed, "So, you coming to the party?".

I shrug, "Not like I've got anything better to do, the world has actually been fairly peaceful". I cock my head to the side as I consider the thought, I hadn't really thought about it until now. Part of me wants to prepare, surely it's the calm before the storm.. however the other half would really like to go to this party and just enjoy myself for a night.

"Great, no underage drinking and no talking to boys. Wear something modest," He reels off a list of restrictions as if he expects me to follow them.

"Dad".

"Right, get ready and I'll see you in a bit. Love you kiddo." He crosses the room in a few strides, turning back in the doorway to blow a mock-kiss - just as I throw a pillow at his smug face. He ducks away and disappears from the frame as quickly as he arrived.

With that, I decide that I should probably get ready.

A lot of meticulous straightening and highlighter strokes later, I'm ready. Ive decided that if I'm going to make an appearance, I may as well make an effort to look nice.

My hair is dead straight, the heat damage worth how much older it makes me look, a full face if makeup aiding the illusion. I also opted for a black pair of stilettos that Nat gave me a couple of months ago.

Dad obviously isn't going to approve of my dress, but I don't care. It's a navy-blue mini, silver detailing on the skirt and waist and spaghetti straps criss-crossing from my shoulders to my lower back. It's beautiful, Dad will hate it.

Come to think of it, so will Steve.. and probably Clint.

That's fine though, I don't need their validation of my clothing choices. Feminism, right?

We realised a while ago that after four years of zero public appearances, I've grown enough for no one to even recognise me anymore. It's great. I don't have to deal with the press or crazy kidnappers in need of a couple million. I'm pretty much free.. I mean, as I can be.

I'm as close to normal as is possible, and tonight I want to enjoy myself.

My hair appears even longer than usual, the curls having been ironed out, and I allow it to swish as I practice my walk. I'm slightly worried that I'm about to fall over in front of everyone.

Luckily, my years en pointe appear to have paid off as the steps come much more naturally than I expected.

I have to take a few deep breaths before entering the party, I haven't done this kind of thing in so long. It shouldn't be as terrifying as it is, but my dad knows some scary people. My dad is a scary people, only because he's obnoxiously extroverted.

Once in the room, I have to try my best not to turn red as people stare. To be fair, some random girl just walked out of Stark's private elevator and into this posh-people-party, so I can forgive them for that.

"Remember modest?" A familiar voice chides from behind me. I don't need to turn around to see the disproving stare.

I do anyway.

"I don't like this" he states, looking from my feet to my hair "you don't look twelve".

"I don't feel twelve, I've been shot too many times" I defend, regretting it slightly as a retained wince twitches at Dad's eyes.

He lets out a shaky breath of resignation, "enjoy yourself tonight, tomorrow you're back to being baby roo".

"Deal" I nod curtly, ignoring the niggling sense in the back of my head that seems to suggest that I'll be anything but baby roo tomorrow.

Satisfied, he turns on his heel, about to turn back in the crowd. He pauses, though, looking back at me for a minute "the rule about alcohol and boys still stands. Zero arguments or you're going to your room".

I roll my eyes and salute mockingly, a smile quirking on my dad's lips as he disappears back into the crowd of people.

It doesn't take me long to bump into Sam.

"Rosie!" A wide grin spreads across his face as he strides across the room towards me. I hurry my steps so within a few shot moments I'm enveloped in his arms. Sam and I have met only a few times, but we get along like a house on fire. Once we even set the house on fire. We make fun of each other, make fun of other people together; he's like a brother.  "I haven't seen you in ages, what gives?" he asks as one of his arms falls away, the other firmly hooked around my shoulders.

I wrinkle my nose when I attempt to construct an answer "I don't know really, I suppose life just takes up a lot of time". It's not entirely a lie, lately I've been finding that I don't have the time to do things I love at all because life just gets in the way, though when I reflect I realise that I haven't done anything at all. It's odd - maybe time just doesn't like me. 

"Life" Sam snorts indignantly "You're twelve, what do you know about life?".

"I know that it could be over at any moment".

The statement kind of slipped out before I could stop it. I hadn't meant to voice my thoughts like that, it's one of those things that you just don't say. But I did, and now the awkward silence is drowning out the pregnant chatter of the room as his eyes scan mine.

His arm tightens around my shoulders "Rosalie, no one is going to let you die.. jeez you shouldn't even be thinking about that at your age". When I don't respond he pulls me to the edge of the room, as far away from people as we can currently get (about half a meter) "Have you spoken to your dad about this?".

"Um, absolutely not. He'd freak out - and bench me from fighting, then probably lock me in a tower for good measure. No, no way, not happening" I gush, the very thought panicking me a little.

"What's not happening?".

And there's Steve.

Great, just fucking fantastic.

"Rosalie Potts-Stark won't tell her dad that she thinks she's going to die" Sam provides.

I narrow my eyes "Okay, I didn't say that, you're twisting your words".

"But you do, don't you, I can tell" He stares at me, unblinking "Rosalie I've seen people up close who know they're going to die, what are you hiding?".

The escalation of the conversation almost gives me whiplash and I suddenly regret becoming close with a psychologist. He's so damn good. "I'm not hiding anything".

"Roo if you're in trouble there are loads of people living here who you could go to for help, I'd be willing to listen." Steve adds 'helpfully'. I can feel myself growing nauseous as I unwillingly analyse not only this situation but the one I've been imagining with my mother, and all I want is to get out of here.

"I'm not- I'm not hiding anything" I take a deep breath and Sam opens his mouth as if to interject. I don't give him the chance "Excuse me I need to go to the bathroom".

And I walk off. They don't follow me.

Agh I'm sorry I haven't been updating, school is a lot. Now it's the christmas holidays though and I'm so excited :) I'll hopefully be updating more now xxx