Notes: Don't worry guys, this going to get much fluffier and happier soon. :3 Poor Tony. I'm not sorry, lol.
Oh, an update! Look at that! Man, I'd like to say I'm on a roll, but I'm actually just sleep deprived and not wasting the opportunity to mooch some wifi and post this. *sobs*
Possible trigger warning for a brief mention of rape.
Chapter 7: Professional Advice
"Good morning, I'm Tony Stark. Yes, that Tony Stark. This going to sound crazy but it's a thing and I swear I'm not drunk, stoned or intoxicated in any way. Nor this is a prank call, though that would be kind of funny. ...And probably something I'd do, but here's the deal: I sort of had sex with an alien and now I'm about four and a half months pregnant. Could I please get an appointment?"
I swear I've repeated that pathetic monologue like twenty times this morning. The first obstetrician's office I called just hung up on me. The receptionist in the second one laughed so hard that she dropped the phone before, again, hanging up on me. The third, asked if I was sure I wasn't drunk and offered to help, but I couldn't get an appointment until next month. I'm pretty sure she was just fucking with me.
Miserably, I glance down at the list of phone numbers Bruce gave me. There's only one left – Doctor Erin Martin, who apparently has a small practice in the Lower East Side here in Manhattan. Bruce actually told me to call her first, but as usual I ignored him. Apparently Doctor Martin started her career working for the Peace Corps in Africa and India, so Bruce was relatively certain she'd seen just about everything. Just not a pregnant man, but if there was a woman for the job it was Erin. ...According to Bruce, anyway.
"Well, this is it I guess." I mutter and have Jarvis dial the number. When the receptionist picks up and greets me politely, I once again launch into the awkward explanation of my situation. I can hear her try (and fail) not to giggle explosively. I can't really hold it against her, it sounds pretty fucking ridiculous.
"I... Oh my. I'm sorry, I don't mean to – Ha ha! Excuse me, please it's not funny, really, it's not. Um, I can get you in tonight after hours if you want? Doctor Martin won't mind, she mostly takes charity cases anyway so the schedule's pretty flexible." The receptionist, who has a bit of an Irish accent, says politely.
"Oh God, yes please. Just give me a time, babe. And this won't be a charity case, I swear I'll pay double in cash just for you not hanging up on me." I chatter in mindless relief. I glance at the clock on the screen of my tablet. I've got about ten minutes before I have to leave for the meeting. Loki's downstairs in the lounge, I think. I kicked him out for a bit of privacy while I'm busy emasculating myself – since I'm pretty sure a recording of me explaining how I got impregnated by an alien will be on the internet somewhere by the time I get out of the meeting.
Damn it.
"Will seven work for you?" The receptionist replies. I can hear her typing rhythmically on a keyboard while she speaks.
"Sure. I'll get all my records transferred to you. Seriously, thanks for not thinking this was a prank call because I really need -"
"Relax, Mr. Stark. It's not as scary as it seems, and stress is something you are going to want to avoid as much as physically possible. We'll see you tonight, please be on time." The receptions tells me, cutting me off mid-sentence. Is it that obvious that I'm stressing over this worse than pretty much anything I've ever stressed over?
"Right. It's a date." I say automatically, unable to keep the nerves out of my voice. When she wishes me a good day and I finally hang up the phone, I'm not sure if I feel relieved or even more freaked out. Either way, I have to do this. Bruce already refused to be any more involved with it medically than he already is. I don't blame him. He's not doing it to be a dick, he's pushing me for me own good because there's people out there better equipped to help me through this than he is. I'm not taking Loki, though. I'm sure he'll be pissed, but this is something I need to do alone. Well, the first visit anyway.
The board meeting, that... Well, it's going to be interesting, to say the least.
"Man up, Tony." I tell myself as I check my clothes in the bathroom mirror one last time before heading out. It's obvious. There's no way to hide it anymore. I'm wearing a grey pinstripe Armani suit that's always been a bit loose on me, but now it barely fits. The jacket is still loose enough to mostly conceal the bulge of my stomach, but it's there and you'd have to be blind not to see it. For the first time in my life, a twinge of honest to God self-consciousness passes over me. I'm fat. I just look like any other thirty year old corporate shark with a beer belly. Well, a small-ish beer belly. But still. I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a sigh.
"All right, kiddo. Let's get this over with. Any more stalling and I'll pussy out. Your fath – mother is not a fucking pussy." I say mostly for my own benefit, and turn my back on my reflection.
When I reach the meeting room, I'm barely on time. Whatever. It's better than late, right? Pepper obviously doesn't think so since she just glares at me and shakes her head when I take my seat. For a while, I just sit in silence contemplating how to break the news. I stare blankly at the clear glass tabletop, and let my eyes wander back up to Pepper. She's talking finances, since that's pretty much what she does. She looks amazing in that navy business suit with her hair tied up in a loose bun. It's probably just that she's not an emotional wreck anymore - that she looks so good, I mean. ...Since she only has to put up with my BS when it has to do with the business. I miss her, though. And I know I'm wholly to blame for things working out the way they did. But, the thing is, I'm not sure I'd change anything even if I could do it all over again.
"Mr. Stark, when can we expect a functional prototype of the new Starkphone?" One of the directors asks. He's a short guy with a half-assed mustache and greying brown hair that's got an ugly comb-over going on. He has little, sneaky beady eyes that are too close together and honestly he's by far the biggest douche of the lot.
"I regret to say that it could be a while. I'll get the development team on it, but I can't work on it personally right now due to medical reasons." That sounds nothing like me. Where's the sarcasm? The wit? The snark? ...But there it is. I'm too tired and too busy fretting over my impending appointment with Doctor Martin to bother being a condescending ass. Damn I wish I could suck down a latte, but decaf just isn't real coffee in my opinion.
"Medical reasons?" The board member, Don was his name (I think), drawls in an obnoxious tone. "Like what? Aside from the fact that you've been eating too much McDonald's or something, I don't see anything wrong with you."
"I'm pregnant, actually. Also banned from my workshop since I have a tendency to pass out from low blood pressure." I say, without thinking about it. ...Which was the only way to do it because I'd be fucked if I tried to rehearse it in my head. The silence that follows was overwhelming. All of the board members glare at me – some of them in disgust, some of them trying not to laugh. Only Pepper gives me a sympathetic smile and a small nod. ...Her way of saying she was glad I'd finally owned up to it.
"Very funny, Stark." Another board member snaps. This one, whose name I can't remember to save my life, is a fat middle aged man with a shaggy black beard that would make the cast of Duck Dynasty seethe with jealousy.
"He actually is pregnant, as insane as it sounds. It just wasn't my place to say anything previously, or about the actual circumstances." Pepper cuts in and glares at the board members, who stare right back in various states of shock. "I would suggest giving Mr. Stark time enough for maternity leave before readdressing the new Starkphone model. A cellphone with infinite battery life will destroy the competition, but we need his brain to make it work. Putting Mr. Stark's health at risk isn't going to get it done any faster."
I want to kiss Pepper right now, seriously. She's always stood up for me when it counts, and the fact that she still is... It's amazing. I thought that I'd lost her after our relationship fell apart. It means the world to me that she still must care if she's worried enough to defend me in front of the board. Though, the last think I want is for her to fret over me.
"I suppose it can wait... It's not like our competition actually has access to the tech to do it." Don, the short sleazy board member says in a cowed manner. The others grumble in grudging agreement. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when the conversation turns back to the stocks and new sales strategies.
I lean forward and rest my head in the palm of my hand while the meeting drags on. It's nearly six when it finally ends, and enduring the board members 'congratulating' me is pure torture. I attempt to make a swift exit once they're gone, but Pepper corners me before I can manage it. I force myself to smile at her while she crosses her arms across her chest and gives me that patent mother hen glare that only she can pull off with such a high level of intimidation.
"Did you really pass out in your workshop, Tony?" She asks me with unmasked concern.
"No, but I did pass out and Bruce won't let me down there anymore because of it being a risk." I reply shamefully. "Listen, Pepper... Thanks for earlier. I'm not trying to ditch you here, but I do have another appointment that I can't be late for."
"A-All right. Take care of yourself, okay?" Pepper says quietly and leans in to kiss my cheek. "I'll look after the company for you."
"You are a saint." I say and give her a hug. "I really do need to go, though."
Everything's going to be all right, somehow. Pepper still cares about me, and the board's off my back for the time being. I feel exponentially better knowing I can go to sleep tonight without having to panic about it anymore. Well, that's not saying there won't be nightmares, but at least I won't have to fret over that stupid deadline until after the kid's born. ...If I have time for it between learning how to change diapers and shit.
I am so fucked.
I finally feel a bit like myself as I slide into the leather driver's seat of my black corvette convertible. Now, I just have to get through this last bit of torment and maybe things will start falling into place properly.
…
Doctor Martin's practice is a small place – an old remodeled brick building that's probably as old as Ellis Island. It's not glamorous, and the waiting room is outfitted with red chairs that look like they're straight from the eighties. There's no huge flat screen TV or any other nonsense, either. Oddly, I like it better that way in spite of my modern tastes. To me, that's a sign that Martin cares more about her work than the money. I'll never admit it, but it's a thought that's both sobering and incredibly comforting.
"Tony Stark." I say to the receptionist, silently thanking whatever gods there might be that the waiting room is empty. She looks up at me and smiles awkwardly. She's a tiny thing with bouncing brown curls and warm hazel eyes. If anything, I'd say she's Steve's type – innocent, quiet and a bit shy.
"Good evening. I'm really sorry for laughing for at you earlier. Anyway, I'm Carrie – Doctor Martin's intern." She replies sheepishly. "We received all your medical records, and the ultrasound images from Doctor Banner. Doctor Martin will probably want to do one herself, though. I'll still need you to fill out all the paperwork. Sorry."
"That's fine." I say somewhat resignedly. It takes me a bit longer than I'd like to admit to fill out all the consent and medical history forms. In the past, Pepper always took care of this shit and I honestly haven't visited a doctor since returning from Afghanistan. I was always too worried about the arc reactor (or the knowledge of exactly what it does) falling into the wrong hands. After what seems like half an age, I finally hand the battered clipboard with my information back to Carrie. ...And silently pray that I got my social security number right because Pepper will never let me live that down. It is not, in fact, five.
"All right, everything's in order. Come on through that door there to your right." Carrie tells me and points at the door that's slightly ajar, near the end of the glass window she's sitting behind. I do as I'm told (for once), and shove the door open. It protests with a loud creak. Carrie's waiting for me on the other side and she motions for me to follow her down the hall and into a small examination room on the right side. I kind of feel like I'm being led to slaughter, but damned if I'm going to admit it.
"Doctor Martin will be with you in a moment." Carrie says and disappears back down the hall. I sigh quietly and hop into the edge of the exam table. I fidget a bit, hating the silence and the waiting – mostly the waiting. I'm fiddling absently with the cuff of my jacket when Martin walks in.
She's maybe forty years old, tall and thin with vibrant red hair that's grey in some spots, and bright green eyes obscured by a pair of thin frameless glasses. She gives me a warm smile, and I decide immediately that I like her. She reminds me of Bruce, and that can never be a bad thing. I let go of my now messed up shirt cuff and stuff my hands in my pockets to try and keep from fidgeting.
"Well, I've spent the better part of the afternoon chatting with Bruce about this." Doctor Martin says calmly. "There's a few things we need to go over, but mostly form what he's told me you're doing pretty well so far. Physically anyway, but Bruce's a little worried about your mental state."
"I – all right." I say awkwardly. "I didn't know you knew each other. Well, he did give me your phone number, but you know what I mean."
"We met years ago in Kenya. We did a lot of work together helping pregnant women in poverty. Everything he knows about it is probably because of me. Call me Erin by the way. I never like my family name much." She says nonchalantly and flips through a thick manila folder full of papers that she has in her hands. "According to these, you haven't been to a doctor in almost five years." Her tone is curious, not accusatory.
I close my eyes for a moment and think about it, before I launch into an explanation of what really happened in Afghanistan. I tell her about the arc reactor, how it keeps that shrapnel out of my heart and the nightmare with the palladium poisoning. Erin listens with rapt attention, and asks to see it when I'm done explaining. Uncertainly, I slip off the jacket and unbutton the silk undershirt. Erin leans over to have a proper look, and her eyes are wide with fascination. Like Bruce and I, this woman is a scientist. I can tell from the way she studies it that she's trying to figure out how it works. It doesn't bother me though, somehow I instinctively know that she's not the type to use it against me.
"This is incredible. If only it could be cost effective, this technology could do wonders for people with heart conditions. Well, with some tinkering, I'd guess. Unfortunately, I'm an obstetrician, not a cardiologist." Erin say after a few moments. "Anyway, Bruce gave me copies of your most recent physical that he did. That's fine. It's good enough. I am going to run another ultrasound, and check a couple other things over. I need to know exactly what you look like on the inside, because natural childbirth will probably be safer than a c-section because, well, you're not a woman. ...If it's an option, anyway. Either way, we'll worry about all of that tomorrow – I'll try to get you in here first thing in the morning."
I swallow hard and try not to think about how that would work.
That's just... Nasty. Either way it doesn't bear thinking about.
"Take your shirt off and lie down for me, Tony." Erin says as she pulls on a pair of exam gloves. I blink, surprised that she called me by my first name, unlike almost everyone else. Not that I'm complaining, I hate being called Stark anyway. I'm not Howard. I shrug off my shirt and tie and lean back with a wince. I hope I can get back up. My back is sore as hell after sitting in that meeting all fucking day. I close my eyes as Erin gently presses a stethoscope to various places on my abdomen.
"She has a good, strong heartbeat." The doctor observes happily. "Can you feel her move yet?" I almost choke as I forget how to breathe. I hadn't thought of that. I can feel my heart racing as I try to imagine it.
"No." I say, finding my voice.
"Hmm. It is it a bit early, but you will start to feel it soon." I kind want to crawl in a hole, I settle for taking a deep breath that's more like a gasp and trying to remind myself that Erin's probably taken the Hippocratic oath and not going to post this shit on facebook the minute I leave. If I didn't think I could trust her (based on Bruce's recommendation), I wouldn't be here.
"You know, it's not as scary as it all seems. It's kind of exciting." Erin says fondly. I look up at her with a frown and she gives me a wink. "I know what you're going through. I was there when I was sixteen – after I got raped walking home from work one night. The circumstances are different, but it's scary when it's something you don't want to accept. But my mother told something that got me through the worst of it. It's not the child's fault. It's not a monster. It's a frail, tiny living thing that needs to be loved as much as you do. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. A new life is a blessing. And you know what, my daughter has brought more joy to my life than I ever could have imagined. When you're feeling down, don't think about how scary it is – think about how it'll feel when you hold her in your arms, and go shopping for cute little dresses to take your mind off it."
I don't have anything to say, really. I never blamed the child, but I also haven't really thought of her in that way either. Not as a person, just a thing. ...And I feel like a total asshole for never realizing it. But it could be worse. Much worse. I have more than enough money to provide for the kid, or to pay someone else to do it if I need a break. Either way, if I go clothes shopping every time I get panicky, this kid is going to have more clothes than a Hollywood model.
It doesn't have to be a bad thing.
...I think I can do this now. Maybe I've just been seeing it all in the wrong light.
"Oh, and one more thing." Erin says with a knowing smile, "Don't let it get to you that you're putting on more than a few pounds. Diet and proper exercise will get you back in shape after she's born. It's not permanent. And if you end up with any scars, they won't be nearly as noticeable as the ones you already have." I roll my eyes, but she knows I was thinking it and there's no point in arguing.
"Now, you already know most of what to expect. Morning sickness, frequent urination, all of that. Just make sure to take it easy if you're feeling dizzy or lightheaded. That will happen; Bruce told me about the incident you had already. You're also probably going to have a lot of back pain, given that you're body just isn't built for this. You might need help getting up from chairs or out of bed when you get a bit further along." I try not imagine getting stuck in one of the big squishy chairs in the lounge and having to have Steve or Loki haul me out of it. I can't help but smile a bit at the image.
"Do you have any questions? Don't worry, I'm not going to make fun of you – no matter how stupid it seems." Erin asks kindly.
"When she moves... Will it be painful?" Now I really want to crawl in a hole; my face must be beet red.
"No, not at all. It'll probably feel strange at first, kind of like something fluttering inside of you, but it won't hurt. It might a bit when she gets bigger and starts kicking, but nothing too bad. Anything else?" I shake my head mutely. "All right then, go home and get some rest. I'll have Carrie call you in the morning to let you know what time to come over so I can run the tests I need to figure out how she's going to be born." Erin says and hands me my shirt, which I unceremoniously stuff back over my head.
"Okay. And... Thanks. This was a lot more helpful than I thought it would be." I say somewhat sheepishly. Erin just winks and shoos me out the door, which is fine because I kind of want to bolt like a startled deer.
