A/N: Wow, hi, this story has been sitting on my computer since Endgame came out and for some reason I didn't post it, so I'm going to do that now. (obviously).

Anyway, enjoy! I hope this doesn't give anyone depression because it came out way darker than intended!

I Love You Three-Thousand

Age Three

It's only been a week, and Morgan is already starting to forget him.

She still loves her daddy very, very much. But he's gone now. Even though Uncle Happy and Mommy and all the Avengers seem to think she can't understand the concept of death because she's only three, she knows where Daddy went and that he isn't coming back. She knows that her daddy is dead. She knows that he's gone forever. And so even when she lays in bed at night, with tears silently coursing down her young face, she whispers, "I love you three-thousand, Daddy. I love you even more than that."

Age Six

Morgan knows she had a dad at some point. She can remember what his voice sounded like, she can remember his face (although that might be because she has seen so many photos of him) and she can remember that he's dead. Of course he's dead.

All the kids at her school have dads. But their dads aren't Tony Stark. They aren't—weren't—Iron Man. They're just normal guys, with normal jobs and normal friends and normal hobbies. Morgan wishes she was normal. She wishes she wasn't so smart. She wishes that she wasn't a Stark, that she wasn't friends with the Avengers, that she didn't have all these things to live up to. She has to be a Stark. She has to be a genius. She has to be so many things. Some even expect her to become an Avenger one day.

Morgan doesn't want to be an Avenger. After all, the Avengers are the reason that she doesn't have a dad.

Age Nine

Morgan doesn't want to think about her father anymore. If she could, she would pretend he didn't exist. She would pretend she never even had one in the first place. After all, in her mind, he practically doesn't.

To her, Tony Stark isn't a real person. He's not her father. He's not anyone. He doesn't actually exist. He's just a face in the photographs, a name on technology, a superhero that should be in the comics, not in real life. He's just someone kids at her school talk about behind her back, when they think she can't hear them. "That girl is Tony Stark's daughter." "She's supposedly a genius, to even rival her father." "Well, she doesn't have much going for her aside from being smart. Just look at her hair."

They believe she can't hear them. They believe that Tony Stark is a real person. They believe that Iron Man actually existed, that he actually flew through the air in a mechanical suit, that he actually time travelled through space with Captain America and an actual, real life Norse god, that he was friends with a talking racoon and a blue cyborg.

Well, they were wrong. It doesn't take a genius to know that. Morgan would know, seeing as everyone is so sure that she is one.

Age Twelve

Morgan has long since travelled through the stages of grief—it's been years now. She thought people might forget about her father, stop asking her about her father, stop trying to turn her into her father, but she was destined for a life in the limelight, no matter what she wants. After all, who cares about what she wants? She's just the daughter of Tony Stark. It's not like she's an actual person or anything. She's just a puppet for people to use to get what they want.

Morgan is already in high school. She's a freshman, Goddamnit, she's supposed to be twelve-years-old. This isn't what she wants. She wishes she could ignore everything, just sink into the darkness and forget about her problems. Her world is so loud, and she yearns for quiet. Of course, she'll never get quiet. Not until the day she dies, and probably not even after that.

Because she's a Stark. It's her obligation to help the world, to use her money and her brain to make the lives of others easier. After all, why should anyone care about her wellbeing? She's just the person who feels as if the world rests on her shoulder.

She's depressed. She knows it. She lets herself fall into the dark, wishing she could stay there forever.

Age Fifteen

Things don't get better.

Morgan is already in college. She goes to MIT, just like her father did. She doesn't know what she'll do with her life once she graduates—hopefully hide in a basement and never speak to anyone again, but she knows someone has a plan for her, whether it's good or not.

Sometimes, she finds herself thinking of her father. What would he say, if he saw his precious daughter in such a terrible mental state? She often wonders what death feels like. If she died, would she see him? Would she finally get to have a father, like she dreamed of as a child? Would he protect her from the snapping jaws of the media, of the greedy people of the world? Or would he throw her in, headfirst, and say 'Good luck!'.

She wants to think he would have been a better father. He would have saved her from the darkness that consumes her, makes her fall so, so far. Her grades drop. She stops caring. She can't stop thinking: would he care?

Morgan knows it's not his fault that he's dead. But she knows that it's his fault for agreeing to the Avengers' plan in the first place. She knows he lost people. Everyone did. But they could have been perfectly happy, as a little family. Just her, Mom, and Dad. It would have been wonderful. But no, he had to go get himself killed for the betterment of the universe.

She no longer cares if she's being selfish. So every night, instead of telling her father's ghost just how much she loves him, she whispers, "I hate you three-thousand."

Age Eighteen

Morgan visits a museum on graduation day. She's supposed to be at MIT, celebrating the fact that she's smart enough to be out of college so soon. Her mother is expecting her, but she can't find the energy to care.

And so she wanders through this old, practically deserted history museum, lost in her head. She feels like she has lost all touch with reality. For once, she doesn't know. She's grasping at straws, trying to figure out what's wrong with her. She knows she's depressed. That's just how it has been, for the majority of her life.

Sometimes she wonders what her life would be like if her father hadn't died. If Tony Stark still roamed the Earth, ready to comfort her and be loved three-thousand. But she's not a toddler anymore. She's legally an adult, and she wants to make her own decisions.

As she stands there, reading a plaque about a world war, she's not sure which, and doesn't care enough to find out, she hears a strange noise behind her.

It's the click of a gun being cocked.

She slowly turns around, coming to face-to-face with a man with a black ski-mask on, a small gun in his hand.

"Hello, Morgan," he says calmly, and Morgan doesn't move. She doesn't do anything. Alarm bells are ringing in her head, telling her something is wrong, something is really, really wrong, but she doesn't care. Even facing death, Morgan Stark doesn't care.

Without a word, the man lifts the gun, leveling with Morgan's genius head. For a moment, Morgan wonders what it's like to be shot. What it's like to be dead. Well, she's about to find out. She could do something about it, but she's too curious. She has always wanted to know more, and this is a chance, not only to know, but to be freed.

Bang!

The bullet enters her genius brain, and she collapses against the plaque she was reading, dead before she even realizes it.

?

When she wakes, it's dark. It's quiet. It's exactly what Morgan has always longed for. She slowly gets to her feet, looking around, curious. So this is what death feels like. This is what it is like to be dead.

She hears footsteps, whirling around to face the approaching figure. Out of the shadows comes Tony Stark, his arms out like he wants to give her a hug. Morgan practically falls into his embrace, feeling his arms wrap around her neck. It's a feeling she hasn't felt in so, so long. To be truly safe, to be protected by the big man in the suit of armor who happens to be her father.

"You're early," Tony remarks softly, rubbing her back.

"I'm sorry," Morgan says sincerely. "I ruined everything. I should have fought him. I should have run. I should have done something!" She clenches her fists, trying to get out her father's arms. "But… but it's better this way. This is what I want. No expectations, no noise—just you."

Tony smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which Morgan notices are wet. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he says, pulling Morgan closer to him. "Just look at you. You've gotten so big!" He shakes his head. "You did everything you could. I'm the one who should be sorry."

Morgan is taken aback. She knows what she thought once, that it was all her father's fault. That Tony's death ruined her entire life. But now, she realizes she could have fixed it herself. She could have gotten help. She could have gotten better. But she is too little, too late. "It's not your fault," she murmurs, stepping away from Tony. "You just wanted him back… I was being selfish. I could have fixed this."

"We're all broken in some way, Morgan," Tony replies.

"But I was broken before I actually broke," Morgan says exasperatedly. "People are supposed to be whole when they start! We're supposed to be okay until something ruins it, until something breaks us—and things can't break three-year-olds!" She feels tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill down her face. She tries to wipe them away. "I shouldn't be broken. I should have been okay." She clenches her fists again, a tear finally fighting its way out of her eye and down her cheek. "Why am I not okay? Why was I perfectly fine with dying? I'm not supposed to be ready!"

She sinks to her knees in front of her father, the man she always dreamed of knowing, of really, truly knowing, tears coursing down her face. She's not little anymore. She's dead. "I wasn't supposed to die."

Tony kneels in front of her, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her head. "Some people have to be broken so they can be fixed."

"But it's too late to be fixed," Morgan whispers. "I can't be fixed now. I'm de—de—dead." She chokes back a sob. "Oh, god, Mom! She's going to—" The sob spills from her mouth, and Tony wraps his arm around her shoulders.

"It's alright, Morgan," he murmurs soothingly, like he did when Morgan would scrape her knee as a toddler. "It's going to be okay."

"No it's not!" Morgan cries. "It's not okay. It's never been okay."

Tony sits beside her, pulling her close and rubbing her shoulders. "You're going to be okay now, Morgana."

The nickname rings a bell in Morgan's mind. A memory from so long ago it seems to have never happened, just hours before he died, surfaces in her mind, and it only makes her cry more, wondering what could have been. She wishes she could turn back time, undo all of this. Undo her death. Undo her father's death. Undo the decimation. But she has no Pym Particles, no Time Turners. She's stuck here, with her father in an empty, quiet void. She realizes that she really hates silence. At least with noise, she knows the rest of the world continues to live.

"I love you three-thousand," she whispers to her father. "I love you more than that."

A/N: This came out way darker than I intended, but I hope the ending was happy? Sort of? Not at all? Yeah, let's go with the last one.

I legit teared up writing this ending. I did not mean for this to be so dark. I wanted it to cute, kind of sad, about Morgan's struggle to get over her father's death. It didn't turn out that way, but I think it's pretty good nonetheless.

It's pretty short, too, but I hope it wasn't bad.

-Amanda