Shadowplay | Tony Stark

FORTY FIVE - TWO HALVES

NEW YORK

Tony hadn't heard from Mila in three weeks, and what a long three weeks it had been.

He thought he knew the definition of the word busy, but clearly he had been wrong. Tony thought his life before meeting Mila had been chaotic, hectic and wild without being able to find a scrap of time for himself. Now, however, it seemed like he had too much time for himself.

He woke up at the same time he always did, however felt useless as he sat and watched the autumn rain fall from the sky, not helping a toddler brush his teeth or put on his pyjamas the right way round.

He worked all day though seemed to wrap up earlier than he had done before, not having interruptions in the form of Mila sneaking into his workshop for a kiss or Tristan asking him to blast something with his repulsers for the hundredth time.

His evenings seemed almost pointless as he cooked dinner for himself and sat alone, usually staring at a black television screen since he didn't want to carry on watching any shows he'd started with Mila.

Peter was busy studying almost all the time and although the two of them spent a lot of time together during Avengers training and meetings, the teenager was only ever really around on the weekends, leaving Tony with five long days to think about everything he didn't want to.

He would watch the clock and feel an impulse to jump to his feet at seven-thirty to put Tristan to bed, only to recall the same sinking feeling in his chest day in, day out when he realised that wasn't his job anymore.

He'd resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call Mila, even to send her a text, feeling like he'd have been bothering her if he did. The lack of contact between them had made Tony feel numb, and while he still found himself gasping for breath and holding onto the walls to calm himself down if he found an old shirt that still held the scent of her perfume or discovered a toy car beneath the couch, he slowly began to accept the reality he'd been handed.

Tony wanted to believe Peter when the boy said they'd all have a happy ending, and while the hope his eldest son had instilled in him had helped for a few days, he soon realised that the change was indefinite.

Mila hadn't pulled their family apart with the intention of changing her mind, with the pretence of seeing how life differed back home and then deciding to come back to New York because she missed him. She'd done it for the well-being of Tristan, to set up his life, to give him grounding and stability. Once Tony realised that around a week after they'd gone, it was as if all the lights in the city went out.

He would walk around the streets of New York and notice all the horrors Mila would've seen the moment they'd arrived. He noticed the busy traffic and crowded sidewalks, endless high rise buildings and nightclubs, bars and liquor stores, deep rivers and tall bridges, all the hazards that were enough to terrify a parent on their own, without the hassle of the press.

He wondered how he'd never viewed his home this way before, cursing himself for not seeing things the way he should've as a father. As much as he wished things were different and that he'd walk home and see Mila and Tristan sat on the couch waiting for him, a large part of him felt glad that their son was growing up away from New York City, now realising how Mila must've felt the whole time she was there.

"So we'll head down to Wakanda on October nineteenth and-"

"Nope, stop, sorry."