I didn't have time to write a full ficlet for you, but I thought maybe you'd like an extract of the 3490 fic I still need to finish (30k and rising. one day it will see the light! <3):
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It's not exactly a secret how Ash actually responds to giant life-changing events. Burying her head in the sand —metaphorically, ugh, Giant-Man is a terrible influence on her phrasing — isn't exactly the most mature method of dealing with stress and change in existence, but it's worked for Ash so far.
Well, a lot of people in her life would probably disagree —Jon would have most of all—but it's the only coping strategy Ash has left. Alcohol's still a constant craving, but there's one thing worse than drinking, and she wants that, too.
Burying her head in her work is probably just as bad, but that's how Ash copes with change.
Ash isn't particularly surprised that it's her mother who comes to take her to task over her behavior. First, it's a Tuesday, and Maria has a morning briefing with Pepper on Tuesday mornings, and she likes to multi-task her Stark Industries' duties with her maternal duties of giving Ash a hard time, and second…
Well, at least Ash knows what theme her mother's tirade will be on, today.
She buries her head in her current projects instead of staring apprehensively at the door: Iron Man's left gauntlet is playing up, and the Stark-207 tank needs a more efficient fuel injector. If she sparks her welding torch up a notch higher when she hears the distinctive clack of her mother's high heels, well, Ash isn't going to admit that out loud.
"I never should have let you watch Flashdance as a child," Maria Stark announces from the doorway, instead of anything so wasteful as saying hello.
"But mama," Ash says, smirking up at her mother through a dramatic shower of fire and sparks, "are you saying I wouldn't be the most beautiful ballerina you've ever seen?"
"You could be anything you wished," Maria says, crossing the workshop floor and picking up one of Ash's folders of minutes. Instead of reading it, she fans the contents over one of Ash's black glass tables and sits on the paper, neatly crossing her legs and giving Ash an appraising once-over. "It breaks my heart daily that you seem to wish to be a— what's the American word?"
"Hobo." Ash cheerfully turns the welding torch off and lifts her mask, before reaching for a file.
"Grease monkey."
"Ooh-ooh-ooh." Ash flashes a winning grin at her mother. Maria has to duck her face in order to hide the grin that wobbles onto her face in return.
"I must have raised a monkey," Maria says, lifting her face, looking calm and composed again. "For all the grace and decorum she shows."
"Here it goes," Ash sighs.
Maria keeps speaking, like Ash hadn't said a thing. "You sent Captain America a note."
Ash shrugs. She's not surprised Maria knows about Captain America's return; she and Fury have always looked a little too cosy for Ash's sanity. And although Maria doesn’t live in the mansion any more, she and Senora Fruitbagel have always been gossip buddies.
"I didn't just leave a note. I had his uniform restored. And I arranged for the Pentagon to give him decades of back pay."
"Your father looked for him for decades, Natasha Edwina Stark," Maria says heatedly, like Ash hasn't said anything.
"The whole name, mama? Really?"
Maria shoots her a look that clearly says really. "He looked for years. And I'm beyond happy you were the one to fulfil his lifelong mission. But did you have to be so uncivil about it? A note." She says note like other people say taxes.
"I'm busy."
"You're always busy."
"Extra-busy. Fourteen meetings this week, mama. Fourteen. R&D are on my case for the development time I missed to last week's twelve meetings, I've got seventeen ongoing fixes for the Avengers, and now I have to upgrade the mansion because Captain America's shield will dent the training suite if I don't, and—"
"I've got it, I've got it, my baby girl is single-handedly changing the world." Maria gracefully lowers herself down from the table. She plants a kiss on Ash's cheek, before putting her arms around her. "Don't work yourself to death, my darling. The world won't end if you take a break."
"Yeah," Ash says, but she's not so sure she believes it.
"Mrs. Stark. Miss. Stark." Mrs. Arbogast's standing in the doorway. Ash wonders how long her assistant has been standing there. Sometimes the whole world disappears when she's working. "Mrs. Stark's chauffeur is awaiting."
"I have a lunchtime meeting with the girls," Maria says, kissing Ash again before pulling away without a goodbye; Maria Stark believes small talk is best reserved for events when you're raising money. "And introduce yourself to Captain America verbally. Or do you want your poor mother to look like she doesn't know how to raise her daughter to be a polite member of society?"
"Chill, mama," Ash says, pulling a screen over so she can enlarge the intricate workings on the gauntlet. "I'll get to it."
"Get some sleep tonight. And at least wash your face sometime this century," Maria says.
Ash pulls a face at her mother's retreating back.
Without looking, Maria says, "Your face will stick like that, Passerota."
Ash stares as her mother disappears. "She wasn't looking, Mrs. A. How does she do that?"
"All mothers have that power," Mrs. Arbogast says, smirking at Ash.
"I always did wonder why women had children," Ash says. "Superpowers explains a lot."
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timeasmymeasure
<3
Date: 2020-01-19 02:05 pm (UTC)#####
It's not exactly a secret how Ash actually responds to giant life-changing events. Burying her head in the sand —metaphorically, ugh, Giant-Man is a terrible influence on her phrasing — isn't exactly the most mature method of dealing with stress and change in existence, but it's worked for Ash so far.
Well, a lot of people in her life would probably disagree —Jon would have most of all—but it's the only coping strategy Ash has left. Alcohol's still a constant craving, but there's one thing worse than drinking, and she wants that, too.
Burying her head in her work is probably just as bad, but that's how Ash copes with change.
Ash isn't particularly surprised that it's her mother who comes to take her to task over her behavior. First, it's a Tuesday, and Maria has a morning briefing with Pepper on Tuesday mornings, and she likes to multi-task her Stark Industries' duties with her maternal duties of giving Ash a hard time, and second…
Well, at least Ash knows what theme her mother's tirade will be on, today.
She buries her head in her current projects instead of staring apprehensively at the door: Iron Man's left gauntlet is playing up, and the Stark-207 tank needs a more efficient fuel injector. If she sparks her welding torch up a notch higher when she hears the distinctive clack of her mother's high heels, well, Ash isn't going to admit that out loud.
"I never should have let you watch Flashdance as a child," Maria Stark announces from the doorway, instead of anything so wasteful as saying hello.
"But mama," Ash says, smirking up at her mother through a dramatic shower of fire and sparks, "are you saying I wouldn't be the most beautiful ballerina you've ever seen?"
"You could be anything you wished," Maria says, crossing the workshop floor and picking up one of Ash's folders of minutes. Instead of reading it, she fans the contents over one of Ash's black glass tables and sits on the paper, neatly crossing her legs and giving Ash an appraising once-over. "It breaks my heart daily that you seem to wish to be a— what's the American word?"
"Hobo." Ash cheerfully turns the welding torch off and lifts her mask, before reaching for a file.
"Grease monkey."
"Ooh-ooh-ooh." Ash flashes a winning grin at her mother. Maria has to duck her face in order to hide the grin that wobbles onto her face in return.
"I must have raised a monkey," Maria says, lifting her face, looking calm and composed again. "For all the grace and decorum she shows."
"Here it goes," Ash sighs.
Maria keeps speaking, like Ash hadn't said a thing. "You sent Captain America a note."
Ash shrugs. She's not surprised Maria knows about Captain America's return; she and Fury have always looked a little too cosy for Ash's sanity. And although Maria doesn’t live in the mansion any more, she and Senora Fruitbagel have always been gossip buddies.
"I didn't just leave a note. I had his uniform restored. And I arranged for the Pentagon to give him decades of back pay."
"Your father looked for him for decades, Natasha Edwina Stark," Maria says heatedly, like Ash hasn't said anything.
"The whole name, mama? Really?"
Maria shoots her a look that clearly says really. "He looked for years. And I'm beyond happy you were the one to fulfil his lifelong mission. But did you have to be so uncivil about it? A note." She says note like other people say taxes.
"I'm busy."
"You're always busy."
"Extra-busy. Fourteen meetings this week, mama. Fourteen. R&D are on my case for the development time I missed to last week's twelve meetings, I've got seventeen ongoing fixes for the Avengers, and now I have to upgrade the mansion because Captain America's shield will dent the training suite if I don't, and—"
"I've got it, I've got it, my baby girl is single-handedly changing the world." Maria gracefully lowers herself down from the table. She plants a kiss on Ash's cheek, before putting her arms around her. "Don't work yourself to death, my darling. The world won't end if you take a break."
"Yeah," Ash says, but she's not so sure she believes it.
"Mrs. Stark. Miss. Stark." Mrs. Arbogast's standing in the doorway. Ash wonders how long her assistant has been standing there. Sometimes the whole world disappears when she's working. "Mrs. Stark's chauffeur is awaiting."
"I have a lunchtime meeting with the girls," Maria says, kissing Ash again before pulling away without a goodbye; Maria Stark believes small talk is best reserved for events when you're raising money. "And introduce yourself to Captain America verbally. Or do you want your poor mother to look like she doesn't know how to raise her daughter to be a polite member of society?"
"Chill, mama," Ash says, pulling a screen over so she can enlarge the intricate workings on the gauntlet. "I'll get to it."
"Get some sleep tonight. And at least wash your face sometime this century," Maria says.
Ash pulls a face at her mother's retreating back.
Without looking, Maria says, "Your face will stick like that, Passerota."
Ash stares as her mother disappears. "She wasn't looking, Mrs. A. How does she do that?"
"All mothers have that power," Mrs. Arbogast says, smirking at Ash.
"I always did wonder why women had children," Ash says. "Superpowers explains a lot."