Summary: In a mansion littered with cloth-covered toys and a liberal amount of baby-proofing, Tony Stark holds a vaguely two-sided conversation and reminisces on how he'd gotten to this point with the infant in his arms. Rated for language.
Disclaimer: The characters written belong to Marvel and I claim nothing that is copyrighted and that I did not create. Any original characters and original content/storylines are mine.
Agent
"I want you to know that this is all Clint's fault."
Tony's statement was punctuated by a small wail of misery, and he sighed.
"Well, it's mostly Clint's fault. Pep will tell you that I had something to do with it, proving that, like Steve says, it takes two to tango."
There was another wail, followed by a miserable snuffle from the direction of his crooked elbow, and Tony paused in the hallway, glancing down.
Large brown eyes framed with thick, wet lashes peaked up at him over chubby cheeks, rosy with distress. The baby's breath hitched and another cry was let loose, little fists stretching into the air. Tony sighed, continuing down the stairs as he tried to calm the infant and avoid waking the rest of the sleeping team.
"Before you tell your mom on me, you weren't unwanted. You were just a surprise, that's all." He huffed beneath his breath, rubbing one warm palm along the baby's back. "A very big surprise."
Pepper raised an eyebrow as she walked into the lounge. Clint was cocooned on the couch in a large chenille blanket, a pile of used tissues to his left. Two additional boxes sat at his right hand and there was a pile of cold remedies on the table in front of him.
Natasha sat on the other couch, arms and legs crossed, glowering lightly at her partner. "You're an idiot," she informed him, ignoring Pepper's entrance.
Clint sneezed loudly into his elbow before returning her glare. "It is not my fucking fault."
"You should take better care of yourself," the redhead insisted. "What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I didn't have to time to ask the kid I was saving if he had the sniffles or if it was just allergies," he snapped, although the force of his reply was lessened by the coughing fit that followed.
Pepper peeked over the back of the couch Natasha reclined on, humming sympathetically and eyeing Clint. "Catch a cold?"
"How could you tell?" he asked hoarsely, leaning forward for the television remote. Steve walked around the other side to place a steaming bowl of chicken soup in front of him and Clint accepted it with a grateful noise. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Steve answered distractedly. Pepper focused on the soldier at his tone and, after a minute, she joined him in the kitchen.
"Steve, do you need some help?" she murmured quietly, watching as he pulled a plastic container from the cabinet and began to one-handedly pour the remains of the soup into it.
"Yes," he answered emphatically, dropping the pot back on the burner with a clang. "I'm sorry, but Clint can't stand without feeling dizzy, Natasha refuses to help him, Maria will be here any minute, and I've got nothing ready for our meeting."
Pepper pulled the Tupperware gently from his hands and set it on the counter. "Go," she commanded quietly. "Clean yourself up and get as much work done as you can before Maria arrives. I'll take care of Clint."
He smiled gratefully at her. "Thanks, Pepper."
"Any time."
The soldier pulled the dish towel from his pocket and dropped it on the table as he darted up the stairs. Pepper sighed softly and walked back into the lounge, bringing a trash can with her for Clint's used tissues.
...
Clint was nearly well again when she began feeling achy, but, unlike the resident archer, she had no reservations about visiting a doctor for a prescription to speed her recovery time.
Clint glowered halfheartedly at her. "You're welcome."
She raised an eyebrow at the archer, surprised. "For what?"
"For taking some of the punch away from that cold," he answered, somewhat petulant.
She laughed. "You didn't take anything away from it, Clint. I took medication and you preferred to tough it out."
"Because I'm badass," he added.
Pepper rolled her eyes, waving at the arriving Bruce. "Naturally."
Bruce turned slightly back and called down the stairs, "It's safe. You can come up here, you coward."
Clint scoffed as Tony entered the room. "It's not cowardly to be cautious," the billionaire reprimanded. "Greater men were slain by less."
"Is there less than the common cold?" Bruce mused, flashing a grin at Tony's glare.
"Yes." He stood to the side and scrutinized Pepper. "You're not contagious, are you?"
She held her hands out, inviting his inspection. "I'm not even sick," she assured him. Glancing at the clock, she stood. "I am, however, tired."
Murmuring good nights to Clint and Bruce, she started up the stairs. Tony was at her side when she reached the landing and trailed her into the bedroom. "How tired?"
She arched a brow at his contemplative tone and grinned suggestively. "Not that tired."
"Apparently, antibiotics nullify birth control," Tony said conversationally over the sound of the baby's crying. "Who knew? Seriously, are you going to cry all night? You don't want a pacifier and you clearly don't want to sleep. What about food? Let's get you some food."
The baby wailed even louder and Tony shushed softly. The billionaire stared blankly at the kitchen for a moment, absently wondering how he'd arrived, and then shook his head. He began the familiar movements to warm a bottle.
"I'll spare you the gory details of what happened next. You're too small to understand and I'd rather not start your therapy this young. Not that I can't afford it, but it'll make your mother mad. And we don't want her mad, kid. Trust me."
The baby whimpered quietly, pressing a tiny nose into Tony's shirt.
"Yeah, yeah," Tony murmured, setting the bottle on the counter and rubbing the little back soothingly. "I'll get on with it."
"Oh," Pepper groaned, raising her head from her trash can. Her hand flailed around on her desk for the tissues she kept there. Finally finding the box, she pulled it from the desk and wiped her mouth with one. She righted herself, one hand pressed to her stomach, and looked up into the eyes of Kathleen, her receptionist. Pepper blinked twice. "Hello there."
"I think you should see a doctor, Miss Potts," Kathleen murmured, her eyes kind.
Pepper waved a hand vaguely. "I'm fine. Just a stomach bug."
"That you have had for two months now, and only before lunch?" Pepper stared at her, uncomprehending. Her assistant sighed, fondly exasperated. "I think you're pregnant."
Pepper shook her head immediately. "Impossible. I'm on birth control."
"And no form of birth control has ever failed?" Kathleen asked softly.
Pepper froze, her mouth open. "I can't be," she replied faintly.
Kathleen eyed her with sympathy and reached down for the paper bag that Pepper hadn't noticed. Picking it up, she walked over to Pepper's desk and placed it on the edge.
"Maybe it was presumptuous," Kathleen began hesitantly. "But I thought that you'd do the same for me."
Pepper watched with fascinated horror as Kathleen placed pregnancy test after pregnancy test on her desk blotter. She stared up at her secretary. "Did you buy out the store?"
Kathleen shrugged. "Knowing you, you wouldn't believe just one test, and I wasn't able to get you in to see your doctor. I thought I'd cover all the bases." Dipping her hand back into the bag, she emerged with a large bottle of water. "Drink up."
...
The Acura skidded into the drive, the tires squealing lightly as she turned down the road that led to the mansion. Five positive pregnancy tests sat in a plastic bag in the seat behind her, and Pepper cringed at the recurring knowledge that they were there.
As her muscles tensed with the action of pulling into the driveway that led into the garage, she jerked the wheel to the side and slid to a stop in front of the main door.
"Can't," she breathed to herself. "Not yet."
Flinging the door open, she haphazardly gathered her things and tumbled through the front door, feeling terribly off-kilter. The main floor was blissfully empty, and she made her way upstairs. At the top of the landing, Steve's door stood cracked open, his version of an invitation for whoever felt so inclined, and Pepper found herself veering into his room without bothering to knock.
He sat as his desk, concentrating on a stack of four-one-fives and Pepper realized that the calmness he was exuding and his analytical mind were precisely what she needed.
"Steve, I have to talk to you." The soldier looked up from his reports, waving her further into his room. She stepped inside and firmly shut the door behind her. Steve leaned slightly back in his chair as she began to pace.
"Sure," he answered hesitantly, watching her harried movements. "Is everything okay?"
"I'm pregnant," she blurted out, feeling the tiniest bit of relief. Hysterical laughter bubbled in her chest at the way that Steve's face went slack and he stared at her. "So, not particularly."
The soldier blinked in confusion, his brow furrowing. "I'm not sure I understand that."
She was only half listening to him, her brain too busy engaging in a massive list of Worst Case Scenarios. "It's Tony's."
"Well, I see how that could be disappointing," he teased, breaking through her panic. She glared at him and he held his hands out helplessly. "I'm not sure what you want me to say, Pepper."
She sighed heavily and dropped onto the edge of his bed. "I'm sorry," she confessed. "Kathleen sprang the idea on me this morning and the next thing I knew, I had a million pregnancy tests all telling me the same thing. It's that, well, I didn't think it was possible."
Steve flushed slightly and shifted in his seat. "Uh," he faltered.
"I'm on birth control, for Pete's sake," she exclaimed, almost to herself, oblivious to the burnished red color that blossomed on his cheeks in response. "How?"
"I'm really not the one to be asking," he muttered quietly.
Pepper finally focused her attention on him and offered an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell Tony yet. And I had to talk to a friend."
"Of course." Steve leaned forward in his chair, visibly softening in the face of her uncertainty. "I'm always here."
"I know," she replied absently, falling silent for a few long minutes. "How do I tell him?"
Steve shrugged. "I don't see why you can't just say it."
Pepper shook her head vehemently. "You don't understand. You remember Howard Stark as a fun-loving bachelor and a brilliant engineer. Tony remembers him as a cold bastard that only cared about himself."
"From what I understand, most parents were a little harsh after the war," Steve began hesitantly. "I'm not excusing Howard's behavior, but he loved Tony. I'm sure of it."
She smiled thinly at Steve's naivety. "Sometimes, it's endearing the way that you always want to see the best in people," she murmured, feeling unaccountably cynical as the stress began to overtake her shock.
"Thanks?"
"I'm sorry," she offered, trying inject some sincerity to her words. "But Tony's father was a different person with Tony than he was with you. He wanted a small robot that he could command without fail rather than an actual child. He didn't even want to get married, but after Maria got pregnant, well."
She sighed, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she could think to stop them as Steve listened patiently. "The times and society demanded it. Being a single, unmarried mother was still taboo, and everyone would have known that Howard was the father. He'd been taking her to functions and galas for months. They'd each have been ostracized."
"Well, it's not like Tony knew that." Steve said. He blinked at her for a moment. "Did he?"
"I think there was always the feeling there," she admitted. "He's never said that he was told one way or the other, but the relationship that his parents had didn't leave much to the imagination. And he did the math. He knows that he was born too soon after the wedding."
Steve let out a tired sigh. "Sometimes, I just want to punch Howard. Is that wrong of me?"
She quirked her lips at him. "It's not very Captain America. But it's very Steve, so I think it's okay."
"You have to tell him, you know," Steve offered into the silence that had fallen. "And it should be soon."
"Can't I just wait until I start showing?"
"No," he answered, his cheeks the faintest pink. "Then he'll know that you kept it a secret, and he'll be angry with you."
"As opposed to now?" she asked rhetorically.
Steve frowned at her. "Pepper, Tony is a lot of things, but he's not unreasonable. Whatever happened, it's not your fault. He was there too."
"But that doesn't mean he'll be rational when he finds out," she pointed out. "I'm not afraid of what he's going to say or do. But he's happy here, with everything, really happy, for the first time since I can remember. I don't want to ruin that for him."
"Pepper, having a baby isn't going to ruin Tony's life," Steve said, exasperated. "It can only make things better."
She smiled softly at him, slightly sad. "You're such an idealist, Steve. You would see this as the chance to be a better father. Tony won't."
Steve was quiet for a few minutes. "You have to tell him," he finally reiterated, and she sighed.
"I know," she assured him. "I know."
Tony bounced lightly from foot to foot as the bottle warmed up, his right ear ringing from unhappy wails. "JARVIS, something soothing, please?"
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata began playing in the background, and Tony breathed a sigh of relief when the cries lessened slightly.
"Kid, we are going to have to work on your communications skills, because the crying really doesn't help."
There was a small sniffle from the general direction of his shoulder and he eased the tiny body more securely onto his chest. The music swelled quietly and he pressed his lips to the soft skull resting on his clavicle, breathing in the unequivocal newborn smell.
"That's better," he whispered into baby fine hair. "Not so bad now, is it?"
The child whined, seemingly just to have the last word, and Tony huffed a laugh. "Well, at least you're not the only one that needs to work on communication. For all the years we've been together, it's still a problem for Mom and Dad. Just look at how she broke the news."
Pepper paused in front of the lab door, visibly wavering. Stepping back into the shadows, she bumped into a large male chest. Gasping, she whirled and found herself face to face with Steve's crossed arms.
"God, you scared me," she hissed quietly, glaring up at his stern expression. "What are you doing?"
"Making sure that you don't chicken out," he informed her. "Tony needs to know that he's going to be a father, and he needs to hear it from you before anyone else does."
She scowled at him for good measure, but it appeared he actually wasn't going to leave until she entered the lab. She inhaled shakily and he gentled his expression, uncrossing his arms and slipping his hands into his pockets.
"I know you're nervous," he sympathized. "But everything is going to be fine. And we will be here for you, no matter how he reacts initially. Just remember that he'll come around."
She gave him a tremulous smile and, impulsively, hugged him briefly, wanting to giggle at the awkward way he flailed. Sending him away, she cautiously opened the door to the lab. Tony was at his desk with a tumbler of scotch, the bottle at his elbow. Tools were spread haphazardly around him and a holographic prototype floated to his left. Waving her forward, he pointed out into the lab space.
"Butterfingers, put those down, you'll drop them." The robot chirruped sadly and gently set the socket drivers back on the table. Tony glanced at her. "Something on your mind, Potts?"
Pepper took a deep breath, mentally thanking Steve for his boost of confidence as she decided to just blurt her news out into the lab space. "I'm late."
He blinked bemusedly at her and craned his head towards the back wall. It seemed that he didn't find what he was looking for, because he huffed with annoyance. "JARVIS, what time is it?"
"It is four twenty-eight in the afternoon, sir."
Tony snorted dismissively. "Dinner isn't for another hour, at least. So, you're early. Not abnormal."
She fidgeted slightly, feeling exasperated with Tony's lack of understanding as her confidence began slipping. "No, Tony. I'm late," she stressed, willing him to understand.
He paused at the emphasis on the last word and eyed her suspiciously. "Late for what?"
She met his gaze gravely. "I think you know what."
"My birthday?" he asked, his voice pitched somewhat higher.
"Tony, I'm pregnant," she finally murmured.
He sat, motionless, for a long moment, before standing abruptly. The chair scrapped loudly against the floored as he pushed back from the desk. "I need a minute."
Pepper said nothing as he strode past her and out into the garage. She let out a shaky breath when the garage door closed and leaned her hands on the edge of the desk. There was a shuffling sound from the doorway and she closed her eyes.
"Suppose you heard all that," she murmured quietly.
Bruce stepped around the partition. "Not all," he hedged.
She laughed humorlessly. "You're a terrible liar."
"It didn't go as badly as it could have," Bruce offered with a shrug, nodding at the half full tumbler of scotch on the desk. "He didn't take his drink."
She raised an eyebrow sardonically. "Do you see the bottle anywhere?"
"No." Bruce frowned, glancing around, and then his face cleared. "Oh."
"I wasn't exactly the example of serenity," Tony admitted to the little body in his arms. He shifted to free his left hand again, pulling the bottle from the heat and testing the milk against his inner wrist. "Too hot for you, kid," he murmured.
His pronouncement was punctuated by a loud cry and Tony sighed, bouncing lightly from side to side to the music.
"Where the hell is Uncle Steve? He can get you asleep in three seconds flat," Tony muttered. "Your mom thinks he's got the magic touch. I think he's just boring."
Another wail indicated that Tony's assessment was not agreed with. He ignored it.
"You know, Steve is really good at calming the whole Stark line down. He can do it with you or your mom and even, sometimes, me."
"Fuck," Tony slurred as he dropped a bottle of some kind of alcohol that wasn't what he was looking for onto the floor. It was an ungodly hour of the morning and he'd been drinking heavily since Pepper had made her announcement. Just thinking about the prospects made his heart stutter in his chest and he felt despair welling behind his eyes. Flopping backwards, he dropped his head against the wall. "Can't even keep track of my alcohol, how the fuck can I keep track of a damned kid?"
"Tony?" Steve's voice interjected. He looked up blearily to see the soldier skirting the couch and looking concerned. "Everything okay?"
Tony snorted, rising from his seated position and slipping on the spilled liquid. Steve lunged forward, hooking an arm around his back and gripping Tony firmly before he fell into the broken glass at his feet. Despite Steve providing balance, Tony stumbled slightly at the change in his equilibrium.
"Well, I knocked my girlfriend up, which means that I now have the chance to ruin my very own small person. So, everything is great, thanks for asking."
Flailing one arm out to the side in an encompassing gesture, Tony felt his hand make contact with another bottle that went careening off the bar, glass and alcohol splashing at his feet. Steve sighed softly at his side and gently tugged him towards the couch.
"Stay here for a minute," the soldier murmured, heading towards the kitchen. "I'm going to clean this up and you're going to drink some water, and then you're going to tell me what this is all about."
Tony snorted involuntarily, the harsh noise echoing in the empty room. "Didn't you hear me? I'm going to be a father."
"That's generally good news," Steve commented calmly, handing Tony a tall glass of cold water. "Aren't you excited?"
Tony took the glass, staring incredulously up at Steve. "Excited? To have my own human being to emotional stunt? No."
Steve made a helpless noise in the back of his throat and rubbed a hand across his brow. "Why on Earth would you think that you would ruin a child?"
"It's the Stark curse," Tony replied, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. "Besides, I have no idea how to be a father."
"Does anyone really know how, in the beginning?" the soldier murmured. Tony felt his face freeze, half mocking, half something else entirely. Steve seemed to read the unnamed expression behind his eyes and he turned towards the bar, his face falling slightly. "It's something that is learned. And you learn very quickly."
"Spare me your grandfatherly lectures, Spangles," Tony replied, leaning his aching head back against the couch as he listened to Steve gather up the pieces of the shattered bottles. "You've missed a few years and you don't really know the world anymore."
It was petty and inflammatory, Tony knew, but he couldn't stop himself. Fortunately, Steve knew him well enough to know when he was lashing out. The soldier rose, broken glass cradled between his palms.
"That's true," he admitted, the shards shifting in his hands. "But I'm getting there. And fatherhood isn't exactly a recent development."
"And what would you know about it?" Tony snapped, the alcohol curdling his immediate apprehension into regret. To his credit, Steve didn't retaliate in kind, a fact that Tony's fuzzy brain found both comforting and guilt-inducing.
"Not much," the soldier said lightly, dropping the glass into the bin. "And definitely no personal experience. But I know you. You'll step up to the task."
Tony was silent for a few long moments, listening to the steady rasp of Steve's cleaning cloth on the floor. "What if I can't?"
The noise paused. "That doesn't sound like you," Steve commented quietly, rising to his feet.
"Yes it does." Tony drank deeply from his water, knocking it back as if it were still scotch. "You just don't know this side."
"Then tell me, damn it." Steve sounded exasperated. "I don't understand."
"I'm going to have to have more scotch for that," Tony muttered, before falling mutinously silent again. He glanced up after a long moment and Steve was suddenly in front of him, his arms crossed sternly as he waited with expectation for Tony to explain himself. The billionaire sighed, holding out a questing hand. "Seriously. Scotch."
Steve stepped back to the bar and returned with a nearly empty bottle. Offering it to the billionaire, he sat gingerly on the table and waited patiently, elbows resting on his knees. Tony stared at him, agape. Steve raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Well? You have your alcohol."
Averting his gaze, Tony drank deeply from the bottle. "Your friend wasn't exactly a pinnacle of fatherly virtue."
"I gathered that," Steve murmured wryly. Tony glared mildly at him, settling himself further into the couch.
"He never wanted kids," he finally muttered. "He wasn't exactly looking to get married, either, but when Mom got knocked up, he did the right thing, as you'd say."
Tony glanced up and found Steve staring at him, mildly horrified. "Don't get all virtuous on me now, Spangles. People have sex all the time."
Steve waved a hand dismissively. "Howard said he didn't want you?"
The pieces finally clicked for Tony and he shook his head, trying to relieve Steve's distress. "No, he never said anything like that. But he didn't go out of his way to make me feel otherwise."
"He couldn't have been all that bad," Steve put in desperately. "Don't you have any good memories?"
"What I remember most is constantly being in his way," Tony answered flatly, his fingers tightening around the alcohol. "And never living up to his standards. I remember being a disappointment."
Steve was silent for a few minutes, one palm rubbing idly at the back of his neck. Tony sighed, assuming that the conversation was over and he'd made his point. He leaned back again, taking another sip of scotch.
"How does any of this mean that you're going to be a bad father?"
Tony froze, suddenly realizing that Steve's silence had simply meant that he had been contemplating his next move. Tipping the bottle back, Tony let the alcohol burn the back of his throat as he decided on an answer.
"I don't know how," he finally replied. When Steve opened his mouth, Tony continued, "And it's not something I can learn. I'm a raging functional alcoholic, I am completely irresponsible, I am basically a five year old with a bank account."
"You're not that bad," Steve offered quietly, pulling the bottle from Tony's lax palms.
"I'm volatile," he continued, almost absently. "Self-obsessed, don't play well with others."
"Tony," Steve interjected, frantically trying to stop the violent flow of deprecation. "That was the old you."
"Nat wrote that about me," Tony replied firmly, reaching forward and plucking the bottle from Steve's grasp. "After Afghanistan."
"Before New York," Steve countered stubbornly. "Before all of us."
"A tiger can't change his stripes, Cap," Tony said wryly. "I am who I am."
"I don't believe that," Steve countered. "Are you trying to tell me that you're the same man you were before the cave?"
"I'm trying to tell you that I am not fatherly material," Tony snapped. When Steve fell silent again, his voice gentled from sharp to mocking. "What? That's it? Nothing else to say?"
Steve shrugged. "I just think it's pointless to argue about something that clearly hasn't happened yet and that you can change." He met Tony's gaze. "It's not fate. It's just the future."
"That might be too deep for me at the moment," Tony admitted after a moment, nearly polishing off the bottle to avoid admitting how deeply Steve's words had struck him. "But I might see where you're going with it. Can we talk about this when I'm sober?"
"And when will that be?" Steve asked, amusement threading through his voice.
"Not tonight," Tony mumbled in reply. He swallowed the last sip of scotch. "Probably not this week."
...
The sun was creeping over the horizon when Steve finally managed to manhandle Tony into his bedroom. Pepper was asleep, curled around his pillow like a child.
"Shut up," he muttered to Steve.
The soldier frowned at him. "I didn't say anything."
"Your brain was thinking out loud," Tony groaned. "Stop that. You'll wake her."
He tipped sideways and thudded into a side table. Steve smirked at him as Pepper stirred. "I think you're doing fine on your own with that."
Tony shot him a black glare, rounding the end of the bed as Pepper rose halfway out of the bed, rubbing at her eyes with a fist.
"Tony?" she called quietly, her voice raspy with sleep. "Hey, is everything okay?"
The billionaire darted a glance behind him to where Steve hovered just outside the door. The soldier smiled reassuringly at him and slipped out of sight. Tony turned back to Pepper and crawled beneath the covers. Wedging one arm beneath her pillow and curling the other around her midsection, he settled warmly at her back.
"Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I think so."
"I'm not saying Steve fixed everything," Tony announced, setting the bottle on the counter to adjust his grip on the baby, who let out a whine of distress as the bottle moved further away. "Calm down. You're getting fed."
The replying wail was louder and almost sharp. Tony huffed. "You're like a tiny drunk person. No one said this is what kids were like."
He fitted the bottle tip into the waiting, eager mouth and his lips kicked up in half a grin at the contented look on the little face. "Of course, there's a lot that you're not told when this happens. Like morning sickness and baby names and what to do when it's actually go time."
Steve was waiting hesitantly in the hallway when Pepper and Tony emerged from their room and Tony rolled his eyes. "What did you break?"
"I didn't break anything," he protested, frowning with consternation. "I just wanted to give you this."
He shifted, pulling a tidily wrapped box from behind his back. Pepper made a helpless noise and hurried forward to take it from him. "Oh Steve, you shouldn't have."
"Really," Tony added, ignoring Pepper's sharp elbow to his ribs.
Steve shrugged, his entire being giving off a helpless aw-shucks vibe as Pepper carefully unwrapped the package. "I was at the store, and I thought they might be interesting for you to read."
Pepper smiled, turning over the books in her hands. Tony simply stared at the soldier, his lips pressed thin to suppress a smile. "Thank you, Steve," Pepper said sincerely. "I'm sure they'll be helpful."
"You're pathetically hopeless, you know," Tony murmured when Pepper had stepped back into the bedroom and out of earshot. "This is almost trying too hard, even for you."
"I've got to do something to keep reminding you that you're not your father," Steve retorted softly. "And if I have to drown Pepper in baby books to do it, then fine."
"Pepper isn't the one that has a problem," Tony reminded him.
Steve smiled cheekily. "But she will read them. And then tell you everything that you need to hear."
"You are an evil bastard," Tony hissed. "Did anyone ever tell you that?"
Pepper quietly shut the door behind her and Steve's eyes flicked in her direction. "Routinely."
"That's comforting, really," Tony retorted without heat. "I'm thoroughly relieved."
Steve simply smiled at the billionaire, holding out a hand to usher Pepper downstairs to the kitchen. Even with Thor visiting Jane, there had been no leftovers from breakfast, and Clint, having slept in and missed breakfast, had clearly lamented that fact to the point that he was willing to fix his own food. Bruce smiled at their approach and Clint, eating his blackened meal in front of the television, waved absently.
The smell of slightly burnt eggs and extremely burnt toast hit the group as they entered the room proper. Natasha had the French doors open to try and remove some of the blue-grey smoke that hazed the air. At the stench of the room, Pepper held a hand to her mouth, looking pained. Natasha returned to Clint's side, leaning over the arm of the sofa and slapping his shoulder.
"Go eat somewhere else."
Clint frowned at her, taken aback. "What the fuck for?"
She pointed at Pepper. "You're making her nauseous."
The archer shrugged. "I think Stark's face is doing that. She's never minded my cooking before."
"Then the baby minds your cooking," Natasha corrected. "Get rid of it."
Clint stared agape at Natasha. "She's infested?"
"Infested?"
Clint gestured to Pepper's midsection with a blackened piece of toast. "With a little parasite," he clarified, and suddenly found himself on the receiving end of some incredulous stares. "That's all they are, you know. Think about it."
"I'm trying not to," Pepper mumbled, shifting towards the labs.
"Clint," Steve admonished. "That's terrible."
Bruce shrugged. "It's not entirely inaccurate," he mumbled.
"Thank you," Clint exclaimed.
"Can we please stop calling my progeny a parasite?" Tony asked lightly, a hint of strain in his voice.
Clint threw his hands in the air, crumbs flaking off of his toast. "Bruce agrees with me."
"Because that makes everything better," Natasha muttered. "No offense, Bruce. And seriously, Clint, if your food makes Pepper puke, you have to clean it up."
The overdone meal quickly found its way to the garbage disposal.
...
Tony rubbed a palm across his forehead as he walked back in from the training rooms and tried not to notice Natasha's smirk.
"I didn't wear you out, did I?"
"Please," he replied. "I have the stamina of an ox. Ask Pepper."
"Please don't," the redhead announced. "I have too many things to think about."
Tony rounded the empty sofa and peered down at the cover of the book in her hand. "What is that?"
Pepper didn't skip a beat, simply turning the page and taking another note. "A baby name book."
"We don't need that." She glanced up at his definitive tone and raised an eyebrow in question. "We're naming our kid Maverick."
Clint snorted into his coffee and Pepper rolled her eyes. "I am not naming my child, boy or girl, after a Top Gun character."
"It's going to be a boy," Tony informed her as Natasha settled on the other end of Pepper's couch.
"You don't know that," Pepper reminded him sternly. "I specifically asked to be surprised."
Tony grinned mischievously. "Bruce knows what it is."
"Bruce knows better than to tell you," she murmured with finality, turning back to her book and flipping another page. "What about Adelaide? That's a lovely name."
"No Stark heir will be named Adelaide. He'll be laughed out of the board room."
Pepper narrowed her eyes at Tony, finally setting her book down and laying one hand against her burgeoning belly. "No, she wouldn't. Because she would have my business acumen and your biting wit."
"I think you mean that he would have my intelligence and your sense of propriety," Tony corrected. "Poor kid."
"For which trait?" she asked, grinning.
"I think I'm going to puke," Clint muttered darkly from the kitchen. "I need a fucking drink."
"In the sink, Barton," Tony called, dropping to a seat on the low table. "I'm not cleaning that up."
"You don't clean anything up," Steve commented wryly as he entered from the garage stairs, both arms laden with grocery bags.
Pepper looked at him hopefully. "Did you get what I asked for?"
"No, Spangles went to the store specifically for you and did not get the one thing that you asked him to get," Tony teased, leaning back on one hand.
"It's right here," Steve assured her, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. He reached into the one of them, holding up a hand to forestall Pepper from lurching to a standing position. "A pint of pistachio gelato and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, as requested."
"That is fucking nasty," Clint blurted out, watching with disgust as Steve brought the items over with a spoon. "How is that any better than my cooking?"
"It doesn't taste like carbon?" Tony guessed, smiling amusedly as Pepper crushed the Doritos in the bag and sprinkled them over the top of her gelato. "Maverick has good taste."
"For the last time, not Maverick," Pepper reminded him. "Roderick, I could manage."
"You liked Asher last night," Natasha commented, raising her head from the back of the couch.
Pepper quickly swallowed a bite of ice cream and chip. "That's right, I did." She made a note on her StarkPad. "Asher goes in the mix too. Asher Stark."
"No." Tony shook his head. "Maverick Stark."
"Roderick Stark," Pepper offered.
Tony tilted his head to the side. "Do-able. Maverick is better."
Pepper sighed heavily, digging her spoon into her gelato and carving designs in the top. She bit her lip, frowning at her list.
"Philip Maverick Stark," she finally said, flicking her eyes towards Clint. "For Phil."
Tony raised a brow at the archer, who had perched on the kitchen table, his bare feet resting in a chair. Clint slowly shook his head and raised his gaze to Pepper, a small, fond smile on his lips.
"It's a nice thought, but Phil would have told you not to." He grinned kindly at Pepper. "It wasn't his way. Plus, those initials are PMS."
"You can't do that to a kid," Natasha agreed. "It's evil."
Pepper wrinkled her nose, but erased the name on her list regardless. "What else did I say I liked?"
"They were weird names," Natasha warned her. "You said that you wanted him or her to stand out."
"Well, what were the girl names?"
"It's not a girl," Tony announced. "I'm telling you."
Clint groaned. "A mini-Stark."
"God help us all," Steve muttered from the inside refrigerator where he was putting groceries away.
"We're not naming him Steve," Tony said flatly, pointing a finger at the soldier. "You should be prepared."
Natasha ignored them and listed off Pepper's chosen names. "Marisol, Gemma, Rosalyn, Genevieve, Finn, and Penelope."
"None of the above," Tony said immediately.
Pepper frowned at Natasha. "Are you sure I liked those names?"
The assassin shrugged. "It's what you told me."
"I think I'm going to have to start over on that front," Pepper murmured. Glancing at Natasha, she continued hesitantly, "I'm almost afraid to ask about the boys' names."
"Ace, Asher, Thatcher, Roderick, and Levi," Natasha answered promptly. She smirked at Tony. "No Maverick."
"It would still be awesome," he maintained, rising from the couch and making his way to the bar.
Pepper pursed her lips. "Roderick is on my list twice," she mused. "And so is Asher."
"Roderick Asher Stark." Tony tried the name aloud. "Nice ring to it."
"Roderick Asher Philip Stark," Pepper amended. "Phil isn't exactly going to tell me no, is he?"
"It spells RAPS," Clint informed her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "It's fine."
...
"Clint, where is Tony?"
The archer turned to Pepper, his beer halfway to his lips, and blanched at the near-hysterical look on her face.
"Uh," he stalled, assessing the way her eyes were wide and slightly panicked as she braced herself at the bottom of the stairs. "Gone. Nat is babysitting Stark and Cap at some Stark Industries function." He paused. "Why?"
"It's nothing important, really," she breathed. "It's just that my water just broke."
Clint simply stared blankly at her for a moment. "Okay."
She glared at him. "That means that I need to go to the hospital."
"Need me to drive you?" he asked after a moment of her glowering in his direction.
"Of course not," she simpered. "You're half drunk! My child is not entering this world in a car wreck!"
"I just opened this," he protested, gesturing emphatically with the bottle. "I haven't even taken a drink yet."
"I can't believe I'm having this discussion while I am in labor," she spat, rubbing one hand on her belly. "Where is Bruce?"
"Right here," the scientist assured absently, walking up the stairs with his nose in a notebook. He entered the room and looked up. "Did your water break?"
"Yes."
Bruce took a small step back in light of her vehemence. "Alright," he placated. "I'll get the keys."
"Great," she snapped. "Do that. Clint, go get my hospital bag."
"Which bag is that?"
She nearly growled. "The one in my room by the door."
Clint arched his brows at Bruce, carefully setting the bottle on the counter. Bruce stepped back down the stairs as Pepper gingerly eased herself onto the couch. Clint leaned over the back.
"You changed your pants, right?"
"Just go!" she snarled.
Clint darted up the stairs and quickly returned with the requested luggage. Bruce poked his head in soon after.
"Um," he began, looking very nervous. "We may have a problem."
Clint shook his head vehemently at the scientist from behind Pepper. The redhead narrowed her eyes dangerously at Bruce.
"What?"
"The others took the Audi and I can't find your car keys," he stammered. "All that's left that will fit the two of us is Clint's truck."
"The keys are down there," the archer said immediately.
Bruce gave him a plaintive look. "I can't drive stick shift."
Pepper made an inhuman noise in the back of her throat. She twisted to view Clint as best as she could. "If your drunk ass wrecks us, I will kill you."
"Despite being perfectly sober, I promise not to crash my fucking truck," he drawled, rolling his eyes. "Can we go?"
"Yes," she replied quietly. "As soon as you help me off the couch."
"There you go," Tony murmured, setting the empty bottle on the countertop and shifting the baby to lean over his shoulder. "Don't puke down my shirt this time, kid."
He rubbed a warm palm soothingly over the little back, listening to the contented noises emerging from the child. Small fingers curled tightly into his shirt and he began to absently pace again, unaware of Pepper's robed form lingering in the stairwell.
"I don't think I've ever driven so fast in my life," he murmured to himself, patting lightly at the baby. "Not even when I was racing in Monaco. Your mom called from the truck and I don't really remember how I even got from the ballroom to the car. All I know is that Aunt Nat was sitting shotgun and Uncle Steve squeezed the door so hard, he left a handprint under the window."
The baby let out a happy sigh and Tony waited for a moment, relieved when his shirt remained clean.
"And you need to know that I was right. I let your mom be right about a lot of things, because it makes her happy, but I was right about this," he told the infant, oblivious to Pepper's silent amusement at his back.
"One more push, Miss Potts."
Pepper groaned, the noise rising in pitch until it resembled a whine. "You said that last time."
"I know, I know," the doctor soothed. "You're almost there. Bear down for me."
Tony, already acquainted with her wrath, wisely chose to remain silent as she readjusted her grip on his hand, no matter how he felt his bones grinding together.
"Alright, Miss Potts," the doctor said. "Last time. Push."
Pepper followed his instructions, screaming in a manner eerily reminiscent of when Extremis first coursed through her veins, and Tony mentally shuddered. Very suddenly, her yells died down and were replaced with a new, higher-pitched, equally loud version.
"Congratulations," the doctor announced over the piercing wails. "It's a boy."
"I totally called that," Tony exclaimed triumphantly, ignoring the sharp looks he was receiving from the hospital staff. "Clint owes me fifty bucks."
"Shit," Pepper cursed heatedly, glaring at Tony and ignoring the doctor's shocked look. "You'll never let that go, will you?"
He grinned widely at her. "Never."
"I was also, for the record, right about choosing your name. Well, one of them, " Tony told him, bracing one palm on the baby's back and sliding him down into the crook of his elbow. Pepper finally, slowly, descended the remaining stairs on slippered feet. "My version is much better than hers."
"Sir."
Tony stared at the young male nurse in front of him, cataloguing little of the other man beyond blue scrubs and freckles. The nurse shook the paper he was holding for emphasis.
"We need you to fill this out."
Tony dropped his gaze to the paper and finally recognized it as his son's birth certificate. His son.
"Yeah, alright," he managed, feeling disgustingly overwhelmed. "Just set it down."
The nurse gave him a funny look, but laid the paper on the bedside table and stepped out of the room. Tony grappled in the drawer for the pen that Steve had left behind earlier, finally finding it tucked into the pages of Bruce's damned crossword book.
He filled in "Roderick Asher" and paused for a moment, the pen suspended in the air above the birth certificate. Tony glanced at Pepper, still fast asleep, and poked at her leg with the pen.
"Pep." He poked harder. "Pep, wake up."
She slumbered on and he grinned almost to himself.
"Should have woken up," he murmured as he filled in the rest of the name.
...
It took Pepper much longer than Tony had wanted to awaken from her exhausted slumber and decide to visit the nursery.
"What is that?"
Tony smirked to himself, thankful that Pepper couldn't see from her vantage point in the wheelchair.
"That's the nursery, Potts. Where they keep the babies."
She twisted around to glare at him. "I'm not an idiot," she snapped, and a candy striper scuttled away from the pair. "I meant the nametag on our son's bassinet."
"It's his name," Tony replied with calculated innocence. "Can't you read?"
"That is not the name we discussed," she rejoined flatly, hands gripping the arms of the chair.
He shrugged. "Sure it is. It's just my version."
"In no way, shape, and or form, did we discuss having one of our son's names be Agent."
"You wanted to name him after Phil," he pointed out delicately.
"Precisely," she shot back. "Phillip is a perfectly acceptable, normal name."
"Because our son was going to be the least bit average," he retorted, voice heavy with sarcasm. "And now, his initials spell RAAS and not RAPS, so Clint will be happy."
"I'm going to strangle you," she muttered, crossing her arms petulantly.
"And have your son grow up fatherless?" He tutted. "That's cruel, Potts. Who will teach him math?"
"I'll find someone."
"She didn't mean it, of course," he assured the infant. "Mom says a lot of things she doesn't mean."
"She says a lot of things she does mean, too," Pepper interjected and Tony whirled, eyes wide.
"Were you eavesdropping?" he demanded. "Unacceptable."
"Just because I caught you being an adorable dad does not mean you have to get defensive," she chided, stroking one knuckle down Roderick's cheek.
"Hot dad," Tony corrected. "You meant to say 'hot dad.' I forgive you."
Pepper hummed noncommittally and they fell into an easy silence. "You left part of it out," she finally murmured.
"Left what out?" Tony asked quietly. "I started at the very beginning. What could I have possibly left out?"
"Agent," she replied, ghosting a hand over the downy hair on the baby's head. "You never told him why it was Agent instead of Phillip."
Tony glanced down at his sleeping son, feeling the snuffling sigh against his chest. "I think that story can wait until morning, don't you?"
Fin.