Tony handled the situation a little more rationally than I had. After running butt-naked into the bathroom thinking, and I quote, that I "must have been being skinned alive," and realizing that despite my blood curdling scream I was physically fine, he calmly opened the frosted glass shower door, turned off the water and persuaded me to explain my alarming episode.
Still soaking wet and lightly brushed with soap suds, I stopped hyperventilating long enough to utter the words gone, birth control, unprotected and whimper pathetically to myself. Tony's calm façade faltered a bit, but after taking a deep breath, he gently told me to quit my babbling.
"No need to panic, Lily-"
"It's Lucy- fuck, I mean Lucile," I corrected, groaning into my hands. His inopportune forgetting of my name made me want to throw up.
"That's what I said," he replied, dismissively waving his hand. Then he threw on his monogrammed bathrobe from off its hook and continued. "Granted, this isn't an ideal situation, it is a relatively easy fix. When I have my driver take you home, I'll have him stop off at the 24 hour pharmacy and there you can pick up the morning after pill. Then just send my PA the receipt and I'll be more than happy to reimburse you."
The way he said it, like he was simply giving a stranger directions to the nearest gas station, almost made me angry. Here I was freaking the fuck out and he had the audacity to treat it like it happened everyday. I noticed my hands were trembling slightly and I as I brought them up to my face, I balked in the realization of something potentially catastrophic.
"One tiny little problem with that," I took a deep breath before continuing. "I'm allergic to the morning after pill. I-I took it once in college and wound up in the hospital for a week."
At this Tony became speechless, reverting back somewhere into the recesses of that vast, genius mind of his.
Seeing the great Iron Man rendered silent triggered some rational, problem solving part of my mind to start functioning again, and I was able to see through the hysterical haze of panic that had clouded everything. "It will be okay," I started, sounding like I was speaking to an insolent toddler on the brink of tantrum. My tone adjusted to one of more confidence as I continued and actually believed what I was saying. "When I get home, I'll just put another patch on and-"
"Or two or three," Tony came to life long enough to throw in, looking anxious and exhausted. I glared back at him.
"Right, because poisoning myself is really the best option," I snapped back at him. Tony just shrugged.
"Look, I think we're overreacting… right? I mean statistically the situation is in our favor."
"Statistics mean nothing to the individual, Lucy," he waved his hand rudely at me again and sighed.
"Lucile," I grumbled, correcting him at of force of habit. My father was the only person with permission to call me Lucy and certainly some egotistical, calculating, impersonal, billionaire of a one night stand had not earned that liberty.
A moment followed where neither of us could think of anything to say. Not that anything that could have been said would have made any difference anyway. This incredible feeling of helplessness had settled deep into my bones and judging by the look on his face, I could tell that Tony was overcome by a similar feeling. We were powerless and there was little to do but wait and see, then deal with any consequences.
Tony cleared his throat awkwardly, breaking the silence and my reverie abruptly, finally letting myself become aware that I was shivering and still dripping wet. I stepped out of the shower and toweled off quietly, not wanting to be the first one to say anything.
"I'll uh- I'll let you get dressed," he mumbled and Tony shuffled his way out, leaving me alone in the spacious, modern bathroom.
"Fucking hell," I whispered, suddenly feeling both incredibly pissed off and despairingly, gut wrenchingly nervous. Despite my best efforts, my mind kept wandering to the what ifs.
What if everything goes wrong?
What if I am pregnant?
What if Tony Stark is the father of my child?
The need to cry and vomit at the same time overcame me and as I sat, huddled over the toilet with tears flowing like a river down my face, I realized something.
A baby I could handle. The diapers, feedings, late nights and frustrations of motherhood; I was sure I had the instincts and common sense needed to raise a kid.
But what I knew I couldn't handle was Tony. Having to explain to everyone that the narcissistic womanizer was the father of my first child; having to explain to my son or daughter that their dad was an arrogant celebrity that frequently endangered himself and those around him by acting as a part-time superhero. Not to mention that the way things were going, Tony Stark could soon find himself in federal custody or dead in the very near future.
My stomach heaved again, and I vomited a second time into the pristine toilet. Groaning, I resolved myself to one thing. No matter what happened, not matter what became of this little accident, Tony Stark did not belong in my life. And I would never let him be apart of it.