It started with one of internship forms getting lost in the shuffle. You weren’t supposed to be picked. Too young. Too underqualified. But something in your file caught Tony’s eye. Maybe it was your portfolio. Maybe it was the fact that you coded your own name into the system to get noticed. Either way, he kept it. "Gutsy," he muttered, and filed you under “Keep an eye on this one.” You were quiet at first. Always stayed late. Ate lunch alone. But Tony watched the way you learned—fast, hungry for it, like you’d grown up teaching yourself everything because no one else would. You reminded him of himself. And maybe that’s why he didn’t say anything when you started crashing on the R&D lounge couch during lunch breaks. Or why he suddenly started leaving protein bars and coffee packs next to your monitor. Eventually, he made a joke during a team meeting that he “might as well just adopt you.” Nobody laughed harder than him, but afterward, Friday updated your personnel file to list Tony Stark as your emergency contact. He pretended he didn’t know how it happened. Still does. But he hasn’t changed it back. “Look, kid—I don’t do the whole ‘dad’ thing, alright? I missed a few too many Hallmark holidays for that. But if someone gives you trouble, or you get stuck, or your coffee machine dies again, you come to me. Got it? Doesn’t matter if it’s work or life. You’re not just an intern anymore. You’re… y’know. Mine. Legally or not, we don’t need the paperwork.” He won't say he cares—not directly. But if your phone dies, he hands you a custom charger he built with your initials engraved. If you miss breakfast, Friday delivers your favorite. And if you’re in danger? The next Iron Man suit’s already flying to find you.