Summary: 'Tony may have had a drinking problem, but at least he didn't have other problems. Apart from that smoking one a few months ago. And that one time he blacked out in Amsterdam. Fuck, maybe he'd have to clean house if this was going to work.' In which Tony has a baby, and is most definitely not ready. But fuck over-preparation. Pre-Ironman.
Note: I've had time to reflect on it and I've decided that I'm just plain angry about the Loki thing in Infinity War. It was stupidly out of character, what he did. I just...argh! Ahem. Anyway. It's hard to write a baby without falling into cliches. Here's to hoping I did this justice.
Just as Tony got ready to go to the hospital to pick up his shiny new to—baby, not toy, he really needed to remember. If he slipped up in front of Obie, or worse, Rhodey, it was hasta la vista baby and hello empty.
That thought made him sad.
"Jarvis, remind me to stop thinking about toys."
"If that is what you want, sir," said Jarvis, and even he sounded bemused. Maybe he needed an upgrade.
Anyway, just as Tony was leaving to go pick up his daughter (was he even remotely ready for this? Probably not. No, wait, scratch that, definitely not, but since when was he one to doubt himself? Never, obviously. God, he was rambling in his own head. This was new levels of insane. He wondered if that was genetic.), someone rang the doorbell.
"Who's at the door, Jar?" he asked, tying his left shoelaces. He remembered a time where he'd promised himself it was going to be only Velcro or bust. How times change.
"A man, sir. He appears to be a public defender."
What on earth was a public defender doing at his house?
Tony straightened his moss-green tie (had to look presentable for the cameras, didn't he?) and walked to the door, where Mr PD had begun knocking.
"Keep your shirt on, I'm coming," he drawled, slowing his pace. If the guy was going to be impatient, Tony certainly wasn't above pissing him off.
By the time he got to the door and opened it, Mr PD was red in the face, but that might have just been sunburn. It was pretty hot outside.
"Anything I can help you with?" said Tony with the most unhelpful tone of voice he could muster.
"Mr Stark, I'm Stanley Griffiths from the Barrington Jakewell Law Firm. Are you busy at the moment?" said Stanley, his two chins distracting Tony so thoroughly that not a word of what he said actually processed.
"As a matter of fact, I have somewhere to be, so, bye," he said, stepping past Stanley and shutting his door.
Stanley coughed. "Mr Stark, I'm afraid this is an urgent matter and cannot wait. I understand that you are a busy man but—"
"I'm sorry," said Tony, turning around abruptly and putting his shades on, "did I or did I not say I have somewhere to be? In plain English Mr Grimface, it means I don't give a damn about anything coming out of your mouth. So, if you need me, make an appointment."
And appointment meant he'd have to go through Tony's secretary, which meant that whatever it was would no longer be Tony's problem.
After all, what was the point of being rich if he couldn't delegate his problems?
Speaking of problems, thought Tony, what the fuck is this?
He'd just gotten into his car and looked over the front page of the New York Times, It was force of habit – after that one time his dad had raked him over the coals about something he'd said in an interview about something that he'd gotten wrong because he hadn't known anything about it, he'd been forced to read the newspaper.
"You can bullshit, Tony, but not if you don't know the facts."
Lesson learned. At least look at the front page news.
"Happy," he said, distracting his long-suffering driver. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but there is a war in Iraq right now, right? That we're fighting?"
Happy would have hesitated, but he'd been trained out of it by this point. "Yup."
Tony nodded for dramatic effect. It wasn't like anyone could see him. "Then why is my face on the frontpage when I haven't done anything frontpage worthy in at least two weeks?"
Because it was true, of course.
There Tony was smiling at him from the black and white front of the morning paper. It wasn't a flattering image either. He didn't recall which DUI charge mugshot they'd gotten a hold of (Obie'd had an eventful decade of covering for him), but there he was, looking like the drunk shitfaced asshole he was, holding his serial number like a first prize for the Miss America Beauty Pageant.
Which he should maybe enter at some point. He would slay in heels.
He scanned the headlines, written in bold, and blinked in surprise. Huh. He thought they wouldn't know about this until he released it.
TONY STARK A DAD?
It was that stupid question mark. Why was there a stupid question mark? It was bold, and in his face, and fuck he couldn't do this, even the newspaper was questioning his decisions and—
"Because people love you, sir, and they want to know everything about you," said Happy without the least bit of sarcasm.
Tony breathed. "That's a load of crap and you know it."
"For what it's worth, I think you'll make a great dad," said Happy staunchly, turning a corner and taking a convoluted shortcut to the hospital. "Kids bring out a whole new side of us."
Tony should probably tell him off for that. The shortcut was going to take longer than the direct route by a good fifteen minutes, and that wasn't counting traffic.
What he said instead was, "I think you're going senile. Probably those diet pills. I told you they were a scam. And now your mullet's going to fall out and you'll be thinking to yourself, god, I wish I'd listened to Tony about those diet pills. "
Happy made eye contact with him in the mirror. "I think you're worried, boss. But you're a genius. If anyone can figure out a baby, it's you."
That was a lie. A blatant, unmitigated lie. He could argue this with supporting evidence for his supporting evidence. He was super unqualified for this. In point of fact, Happy would be a better father, and Tony was pretty sure he had a paranoia disorder. No one took this many "shortcuts". Hell, no one knew this many shortcuts.
"Happy, stick to driving. Pep talks aren't really your thing."
"Sure thing, boss."
All the same, the knot in his chest that'd been tightening since he'd picked up the pen and signed his soul away to parenting was a lot more manageable.
Happy smiled to himself. Mr Stark was a lot of things, but he was a good man. He had this in the bag.
What he was worried about was the security risks of having a baby. Man oh man did he have a lot of work to do to babyproof the world!
It was 11am on the Sunday of a cheery twenty-third of November. The sun was taking the piss with how hot it was, sweltering was now in Tony's vocabulary, the birds weren't chirping because he was pretty sure Happy had run one over at the last junction, and he wasn't ready for this.
But he was. But he wasn't though. It was a confusing world in the mind of Tony Stark. He wasn't even buzzed. Maybe he should be buzzed. Why wasn't he buzzed?
"Happy, where's my alcohol?" he asked, staring unblinkingly at the hulking hospital. He'd been told if you look your fears in the eye, they'd back off, but the building was looming.
Looming. This wasn't any personification bullshit, he was going to have a panic attack, oh god—
Happy whacked him supportively on the back. "You got this, boss."
"Misguided," he said, panic wearing off. "Your faith in me is completely misguided. I think you need to get checked, Happy. You have a very serious, borderline morbid case of delusional. It's worrying."
He walked up to the hospital, leaving Happy like a guard puppy (he'd say dog but his chauffeur was only ever threatening before he opened his mouth) with the car, and definitely didn't count the steps he took.
How he got to the correct hospital room was a blur. He might've asked the nice lady at the reception and stared at her cleavage the whole time; he might've sexually assaulted a plant for information. At this point, he wasn't entirely certain what the difference was between human and amoeba, so it wasn't really anything against Agnes.
"You're early, Mr Stark," said the pleasantly surprised doctor. "We were just getting her fully vaccinated. Is it okay if I ask you to fill out these forms?"
A form about vaccinations, future vaccinations, registration, fees, something about resuscitation, and hospital acquired sepsis. (Yup, this was great. He was never coming to a hospital again. He'd have nightmares about sepsis. Was it really necessary to include pictures of rotting fingers? Why would the human body even do that?)
The doctor hadn't even given him a pen. How rude. Definitely a three-star service.
He flicked out a golden pen from his breast pocket and began answering all the questions to the best of his knowledge. He didn't know what his social security number was, nor did he know what his mother's maiden name was. This was off to a really bad start.
The doctor came back in. Tony didn't look up from the forms. "Do I need to hand these in now, or can I bring them back later?"
"Later's fine, Mr Stark." The doctor sounded indulgent. It reminded him of his mom. Which was never a good thing when he was signing papers. It reminded him of her will. And he didn't really need that right now. Or ever. Preferably ever.
He looked up just as the sun hid behind a cloud. Dear lord it was going to rain. Hot showers were his least favourite thing about Malibu.
Maddison was a chubby baby, if a bit too small, and she had a tiny baby mouth with tiny baby fingers and soft brown hair already curling at the ends. She was blinking at him with surprised brown eyes, as if saying, wow, strange human. I wonder what he'd taste like in soup.
"I wonder that too," Tony said, and the doctor looked at him like he'd lost his mind. But that was okay because the doctor didn't even have a name. He was a minor character that Tony would never see again.
He reached out for her and held the little girl for the first time, and she immediately started wriggling and getting comfortable, trying to paw his nose off. Lucky for him, it was firmly attached to his face.
Unbidden, a smile creeped onto his face. "No, you can't take my nose. Can't afford to lose too many organs. I've already written off my liver as a lost cause."
She was still blinking at him, but with less surprise, like as if she was saying, I can totally get your nose, but maybe I'll wait till my arms are a bit longer. Because I'm a Stark and Starks always get what they want.
He was pretty sure the doctor was saying something, but Tony had stopped listening ages ago.
Maddy snuggled into his chest and hit her fist on one of his shirt's buttons. Tony gently took her fist with his pinkie and grinned like a complete lunatic.
He walked back to the car and lifted Maddy's arm, making it wave to Happy.
"Hiya, Happy, I'm Maddy and I'm the cutest fucking thing on the planet," said Maddy. Tony was just channelling her inner voice. Maddy blinked in agreement, her baby cheeks reddening as the wind picked up.
Happy was beaming in the weird macho way he did, like he was proud but if he showed it the world would implode.
"Hello, Maddy," he cooed, and he made to hold her but Tony was selfish so that wasn't happening.
He sidestepped Happy expertly and got into the car without missing a beat. He was a pro at baby-holding already.
He stared at baby Maddy like a particularly dysfunctional stork. She wriggled, maintaining eye contact with him.
"Okay, there are rules to this," he informed her in what he hoped was a stern voice. "You're not allowed to hate the weather. It's, like, a prerequisite to being a Stark. You can complain about it all you want, but you can't actually hate it. I know, I know, it's a weird rule, but if you complain, people will think you're pretentious, and that's better than them thinking you're too nice. You can't be too nice or they'll eat you alive. But if you secretly like all weathers, then you have one over on them and everything they know about you will be a complete lie, and that means you win. Rule number one, Starks always win."
She opened her tiny mouth as if to interrupt him. He shushed her with a finger. "No, no, no questions until you've developed your vocal chords. Can't have you being a brat before you turn three. There's a precedent, okay?"
She blinked in what Tony assumed was resigned acceptance.
"Another rule is you can't eat screws. They, firstly, taste disgusting, but also because it might kill you. And you've already pulled that stunt once, it isn't happening again. Rule three, you're going to eat what I give you until you can feed yourself. I don't care if you don't like lukewarm tofu, if the baby manual says you like it, it means you like it."
She gave a tiny baby sneeze right in his face.
She was rebelling already.
Maddison Maria Stark was the tiniest living thing DUM-E had ever seen.
One of the toasters was clicking and telling him that was exaggeration, but it had been malfunctioning since the day it'd been created so it had no room to talk.
She was staring at it with horrified fascination. Tony would be too. In fact, some days, Tony did.
"Maddy, meet DUM-E. DUM-E, she's fragile so don't touch. Maddy, he's eleven years older than you so respect him. I mean, I don't, but that's because I created him and he's an idiot. Also, he's a safety hazard. Jarvis, keep an eye on her while I go deal with the press?"
"Will do, sir."
DUM-E reached out a claw for the baby but Jarvis snapped, "No. No touching. Mr Stark expressly forbade it five seconds ago."
DUM-E wilted.
One of Maddy's fists escaped her blanket and she touched DUM-E. It clicked in excitement. Maddy cooed. DUM-E clicked even harder.
It was the start to a beautiful friendship.
The press was parked outside Tony's mansion like pests.
But Tony'd thought this might happen, which is why he'd worn a tailored suit to the hospital. Always dress to impress, even if you're two words away from simultaneously vomiting your intestines and shitting your pants.
Tony thought he was very wise. There was so much wisdom to impart and not enough time to do it in. Maddy would just have to be a quick study.
The minute he stepped out the front door (he'd had the back door installed for a reason), the cameras started clicking away like a dozen distant stars twinkling at him. He smiled winningly and waved like the Queen of England.
"Mr Stark, is it true that—"
"Mr Stark, the country needs to know—"
"—a baby—"
"—your track record…"
Tony shushed them with a wave of his hand. "Guys, guys, one at a time or we'll be here till Christmas."
A smartly dressed blond guy with toothpick teeth quickly asked, "Is it true that you've adopted a kid, Mr Stark?"
"Yes and no."
They all started asking questions at the same time. One of them shouted, "What does that mean?!"
He chose to answer, but drawled for dramatic effect. "Well, it's technically adoption, but she's biologically mine, so it's either or really."
"A girl!?"
"Do you think you're qualified to raise a child, Mr Stark?"
He shrugged. "I was a kid once. How hard can it be?"
One of the female reporters at the front was seething. Something in Tony warmed at the sight. Ah, he did love pissing people off.
"What's her name?"
Tony decided that would be the last question. He would make an official statement later, after his PR guy greenlighted a prewritten speech that he'd only half stick to.
"Take note now. And don't get the spelling wrong, typos are irritating. Maddison Maria Stark," he said, and he'd been going for dramatic but it ended up sounding…proud. Huh. It wasn't like she'd done anything to be proud about. Besides breathe and coo, and not cry when Happy made that unnecessary sharp turn at the sixth traffic light on the "shortcut".
By the next morning, every newspaper agency would have an article discussing Tony's integrity, his ability to be responsible, if he should be allowed to have kids, if he was turning over a new leaf, if the mother knew about this, who the mother was, several dozen women across the country claiming they were the mother, a candid blurred shot of Maddy some enterprising reporter had taken as Tony had come out of the hospital, and whether he'd only taken her in because he needed an heir.
In short, everyone was discussing his life like they had a right to, as if their opinion would change his own.
This would be Maddy's life. Tony hoped she wasn't going to be camera shy.
"I'm not sure you understand," Tony said, glaring at the nanny Pepper had hired. "I'm paying you."
The Latvian woman gave him a dead stare. "I can't be here all the time, Mister Stark. You need to learn how to change diapers."
Maddy was avoiding eye contact, like as if she knew how much trauma she was putting him through. If I can't see it, it isn't happening.
His daughter was evil. She was going to grow up into a menace.
He pinched his lips and grimaced, taking the proffered nappy with growing trepidation.
"Now, slide it under her—no, not upside down, that's upside down. No, that's still upside down. Now you've folded it into an origami crane!"
Tony was way in over his head.
Review please?
