𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗.
Charlie Stark-Rogers has grown up in the shadow of the world's greatest heroes. But spending your entire life in the face of danger takes its toll on anyone. She has secrets, thi...
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐀 five weeks later when Steve came storming in the house, rage evident on every inch of his features. The door was wide open, giving Charlie a full view to their massive Malibu driveway, and Steve's motorcycle sitting right in front of Happy's car.
That was the first sign. Steve never left his bike outside, not even if it were an emergency. It had its special place in the garage, and he took care of it like Tony cared for his bots.
"You okay?" Charlie stood quickly, her brows furrowed. Her hands hovered over her StarkPad.
Steve scrubbed both hands down his face, his entire body flushed with an Irish temper. His jaw was clenched so tight Charlie though he might break his teeth. She'd never seen him like this.
That was the second sign.
The third sign the way he was dressed; there was something about seeing him come home in the black Captain America Stealth suit that didn't sit right with Charlie at all. Steve had always said how important it was to keep work and home separated, for all their sakes. Tony's armor and Steve's shield stayed downstairs, and they could pretend they were a normal family in the mean time.
Yet here he was, dressed in the sleek black and silver suit, looking downright furious. He didn't even have take a deep breath before booming, "TONY!"
Charlie jumped at the sudden shout, dropping her StarkPad on the rug. A sudden cold flash of panic seized her and she attempted to swallow it down as she bent down to pick it up again with trembling hands.
Why the hell did he do that? He knew shouting set her off. Did he just forget?
"Pops," she shot him a pleading look, "please don't..."
Steve, breathing hard, noticed Charlie's reaction and his face immediately contorted into one of self-hatred. He briefly shut his eyes, turning away for a moment to compose himself. "Jesus- sorry, I'm sorry, babydoll. I'm just- work, and-"
"It's okay," Charlie said, her voice much more quiet than she intended. She didn't mean to sound like a kicked puppy; the look on Steve's face made her want to die. "It's alright, Pops. Do you want me to go get Dad?"
"Yes! Get him, please!" All the sudden he was angry again, whether at her or something on the mission, she couldn't tell. His fists were lunching and unclenching, and Charlie quickly left the room, trying not to panic.
She was failing fantastically, though, and by the time she got downstairs to Tony's lab, she was almost hyperventilating. She clutched her StarkPad, her knuckles white, and Tony quickly looked up from his work table.
His eyes narrowed immediately, and he dropped what he was working on without a second look. He nearly banged his hip on Dummy the robot as he made his way towards her, grease coating his hands and his thin white tank top stained nearly black.
