"Okay, wait, slow down."

"Yeah, I'm not sure that's possible," Jessica Drew retorted, and Carol worked very hard not to roll her eyes. Across the kitchen, her (often unbalanced) best friend kept pacing the floor. At this rate, the linoleum wasn't long for this world. "I'm trying, you know? Actually trying to be a good friend, to be supportive and decent and answer his text messages instead of hiding my phone under my pillow and ignoring it for three days—"

Carol frowned. "Is that why I never heard back from you about whether you changed your insurance plan back during open enrollment?"

"—and now, he goes all, you know, this." Jessica stopped just long enough to slump against the counter and scrub a hand over her face. "We tried this before. We sucked at it. It only involved bolting and feelings."

"And we all know how you hate feelings." When Jessica glared at her, Carol raised her hands. "Fine, sorry. No snide comments while you're in your moment of distress."

"Thank you."

"But you do realize that I have no idea what you're talking about, right?" Jessica huffed and rolled her eyes, and Carol sighed. "Jess, you barged in—"

"It's not barging when you knock," Jessica defended.

"—and started ranting about cake pops and Sudoku. Not exactly a world-ending crisis. So, I ask you again, for the third time: what's going on?"

For one brief, glorious second, Jessica rolled her lips together and stared Carol down. Carol, still surrounded by IEP documentation and Twix wrappers (because she needed some help to survive paperwork hell), raised an eyebrow and waited.

Finally, Jessica thumped her head back against the cabinet. "I think Barney thinks we're dating again."

And credit where credit was due, Carol held off a full minute before she burst out laughing.

"Oh, fuck you," Jessica spat, and she threw the scouring pad at Carol when she nearly doubled over. She covered her mouth with a hand. "It's not funny. It's bad. Because last time—"

"You freaked out, realized you cared about him, and had to learn that love sometimes does mean having to say you're sorry?" Jessica flipped Carol off before she started pacing again, but Carol shrugged. "I don't know why you're panicking. Because aside from the fact that a cake pop isn't an engagement ring—"

"Buys my love faster than one," Jessica argued.

"—you two seem to be doing okay this time around." Carol paused, frowning. "You are, right?"

"Yes!" Jessica announced, throwing up her hands. "But don't you get it? That's the problem. Because there is nobody in this world better at throwing a wrench in something good than me, except maybe you."

"Watch it," Carol warned. Jessica rolled her eyes. "And for the record, I've learned my lesson about walling myself off in the name of, I don't know, whatever it is that makes me wall myself off in the first place." When her friend cocked an eyebrow, she swallowed. She'd avoided thinking about Valentine's Day too often in the last week, but now, it loomed large. "I let James make me dinner," she finally said.

Jessica blinked. "Define 'make.'"

"Steak, potatoes, candles?" Jessica released a low whistle, and Carol shook her head. "I just wanted to go to the bar, but he thought it was our anniversary—"

"Yeah, because Stark totally paired you off on V-Day," Jessica reminded her.

"And we broke up!" Jessica huffed at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Glad to see you and my boyfriend are on the same page."

"The one benefit of you two dating is that I can conspire with him." Carol wrinkled her nose, but Jessica just crossed her arms. "You let him make you dinner," she repeated, tone half-accusing.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because—" Carol started to answer, but she stopped. She thought of James that night, of the hope in his expression as they stared at each other across his kitchen, and finally sighed. "Because I did a cost-benefit analysis a long time ago and decided that sometimes, things being good means stepping out of my comfort zone. Accepting a free meal that's also a metaphor for my relationship. Or, in your case, a disgusting cake pop."

"If by disgusting, you mean delicious."

"I definitely don't." When her friend snorted at her, Carol finally stooped to pick up the scouring pad. "If you don't want to date him again, don't date him," she said. "Just let him down gently. But since you want to be his friend, and you do care—"

Jessica shrugged. "Assuming that I feel human emotions."

Carol lobbed the scouring pad at her, and Jessica finally grinned. "I'm just reminding you that this is not a crisis. That's all."

Jessica nodded slightly, and they stared at each other for a few seconds before Carol returned to her computer. She typed in a couple updates as she listened to Jessica move around her kitchen, opening cabinets and rooting through the fridge. She only bothered glance up again when her friend set something down on the table and flopped into the chair across from her.

She watched as Jessica pulled the cork out of the wine bottle with her teeth. "So," she said as she reached to fill a glass, "how bad are you freaking out about your ascent into domestic bliss?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "One dinner does not domestic bliss make."

"Yeah, but I know you. You're always wearing your running shoes." Jessica held out the now-full glass, and Carol sighed as she accepted it. "You twitchy to head for the hills yet?"

"No."

"Carol . . . "

"Fine. A little." Jessica smirked, and Carol scowled at her. "For the record, though, I'm not going anywhere. Like I said, I learned my lesson."

"Doesn't mean you aren't itching to freak out about it," Jessica pointed out.

Carol waited one full beat before she shook her head. "Fine, okay, I do need to talk about this," she said, and shut her computer while Jessica grinned.

The specials teachers trickled out of the library after their weekly team meeting broke up. The team was a mess, but there wasn't enough money in the world to persuade Phil to try and solve some of the issues by himself.

Instead of his usual avoidance tactics, Tony seemed to be acting overly nice to Natasha. The new change in attitude only seemed to put Natasha on edge, which just made Tony seem to push harder.

Trip was trying to keep his head above the first year teacher currents. Phil had repressed most of those memories and felt sorry for the young man.

Then, there was Steve. Normally Phil could count on the art teacher to bring a faithful calm and optimism to group meetings, but he spent the entire hour staring at his shoes. Phil'd noticed the downturn in his co-worker's mood in the last week. Each passing morning, it seemed the bags under Steve's eyes were growing proportionally to the number of cups of coffee he drank. Phil hadn't heard anything about whatever was bugging Steve affecting his teaching or how he interacted with the students. But, like it or not, Phil knew it was only a matter of time before it happened. Even if it was an accident.

And apparently whatever was eating at Steve was causing him to feel the need to talk about it. Or he was still so busy memorizing the features of his brown leather shoes to notice that everyone but he and Phil had left for the day.

"Honeymoon over?" Phil asked. He immediately regretted saying the words after watching Steve flinch at the question.

"Something like that."

"You need to talk to someone?"

Steve shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis as he stood. "What was the first big fight you and Clint had?" he asked.

Phil cleaned his glasses with the end of his tie as he pulled up memories in his mind. "First fight? Clint's inability to pick up his dirty clothes. Man can hit a target from anywhere with his eyes closed, but consistently leaves his clothes where he was standing when he took them off." Phil had hoped the joke would've brought some kind of levity to Steve's face, but no such luck. "First big fight?" Phil asked. "Probably Barney."

"Probably?" Steve questioned. "You don't have it etched in your memory forever?"

"Definitely Barney." Phil sighed. "He's really the only thing Clint and I really butt heads about. We're old enough and have gone through enough that we can let most things roll off our backs. But Barney- I've never had to deal with a sibling being arrested or the kind of childhood Barton men endure." His voice trailed off as he shrugged. "It's impossible for us to see eye to eye on it, and therefore the biggest source of our arguments, which, thankfully, are few and far between."

Steve nodded. "Bucky and I had a huge fight last week. We've barely spoken to each other since."

"Formerly incarcerated siblings to blame?" Phil asked.

"Kids," Steve answered. "He wants us to become dads yesterday, and I'm not there yet, especially not how he wants us to do it."

"And you told him that?"

"More or less," Steve muttered. "Could've come out better. But apparently, dropping hints and politely asking to delay things wasn't getting through. But a full-on fight at three in the morning isn't the best way to handle things either."

"Sleeping on the couch? Taking different cars to work?"

Steve shook his head. "Slept on the couch once, but then I wouldn't let us do it anymore. We said for better or worse. And my couch was old when I was in college," he added with a hint of a smile. "But just because we're sharing a bed doesn't mean we sleep. Keep lying there hearing him breathe knowing he's doing the same thing, but we can't find the words to talk about it. We're both too sore still."

"You have to," Phil said. "I know it's hard and it hurts like hell, but if you let the silence fester, things will just get worse."

"I know," Steve admitted quietly. "You two ever talk about kids?"

"The idea has come up from time to time," Phil replied. "But most of the time we're happy with our lives, our dog, and our students. It's enough."

"And the times where it's not?" Steve pushed.

Phil rolled back and forth on the balls of his feet while he tried to come up with an answer. "When those times come, it's usually only one of us feeling that way. And we agreed we'd only do it if both of us wanted it at the same time. So far that hasn't happened. And at this point, doesn't look like it's going to."

"Is that fair, though?" Steve questioned.

"We're in marriages," Phil answered. "Things are rarely fair. That's the only point of it—finding a way to overcome that and have both people mostly happy most of the time."

Bruce pursed his lips as Tony's car slid to a stop. "This," he observed, "is not the diner."

"You know, I thought a doctor of physics and card-carrying genius just might notice that. Glad to know I'm right." Bruce shot the other man a tight look, but his friend just raised his hands. "Consider this the first part of a two-phase afternoon, and all of it my treat. Unless you skip the milkshake to order a kale salad. Again."

Bruce snorted. "Kale is—"

"The replacement for baby spinach in every fad diet this side of 2011. And now, as long as we're talking about babies . . . "

Tony sprang out of the car without another word, leaving Bruce alone in the passenger seat with his eyes trained up on the brightly colored sign hanging over the nearby storefront. It loomed ominously above them both, complete with its ten-foot tall purple letters and cute butterfly logo, and something deep in Bruce's stomach twisted.

Nearly two months since Natasha first told him about the pregnancy—about their baby and impending parenthood—and he had still never set foot in a baby store. Hell, he'd barely risked googling information about cribs and car seats, still afraid that everything might evaporate if he inspected it too carefully.

Tony knocked on the windshield, and Bruce jumped reflexively. When his friend opened his arms in a coming? gesture, Bruce sighed. "Into the fire," he muttered, and opened the door.

"I'm actually pretty sure my nightmares consist entirely of baby stores," Tony commented as they finally entered the brightly lit store. Bruce raised an eyebrow at him, but he waved away Bruce's concern to lead them through the rows of baby clothes. "Seas of pastels, special pastes for unspeakable post-pregnancy ailments, and hordes of unapproachable women with serious feelings about attachment parenting?" He paused to shudder. "If my whole theory of theology is wrong and there really is a hell, it probably looks a lot like this."

He gestured to a pyramid of diaper boxes, and Bruce nearly smiled. "I'm just impressed you know the words 'attachment parenting.'"

"Trust me when I say that the sanctimonious mommy blogs have scarred me for life." Bruce snorted, and this time, Tony grinned. "Anyway, future father of the year, I figured we could at least start with you taking a gander at the car seats. Because according to the blogs—"

Bruce blinked. "How many blogs did you read?"

"—two of Consumer Reports best-rated models are in recall right now, but the one that's still available has a memory foam feature and—"

"Okay, what's going on?"

Bruce heard the edge in his voice, caused more by confusion than annoyance, and he knew Tony heard it too when he stopped in the middle of the aisle. For a beat, they just stared at each other, surrounded by receiving blankets, tiny hats, and newborn-sized onesies.

And just when Bruce expected a deflection, Tony shrugged. "I don't know what you're—"

"You forward me articles on fetal development," Bruce cut in, and he watched as his friend shoved hands in his pockets. "You leave parenting magazines in my desk drawer and feign innocence when I return them. You installed a Cyrillic keyboard on your phone to call Natasha 'mother' in Russian."

Tony rolled his eyes. "This from the guy who told me 'Big Red' was off the table."

"No, I told you Natasha would kill you if you used that nickname. I stand by that position." The other man snorted, but Bruce held his eyes. "I'm not trying to be ungrateful, Tony, but now that we're on a field trip to a baby store so you can recommend the top-tier car seats—"

"Top-tier memory foam car seats," Tony corrected.

"—I need to ask what's going on." He paused, watching as Tony pursed his lips. "And whether you're okay."

"Except even if I wasn't okay—and trust me when I say I'm great, maybe even peachy—you are the one you should be worrying about." Bruce frowned, and Tony sighed at him. "Bruce, you're about to have a very tiny human on your hands. And now that you're past the point of scary statistics, you need all the accessories: a crib, a car seat, a stroller, a weird plastic bath container—"

"You mean a tub?" Bruce asked.

Tony snapped his fingers. "Yes! Okay, one less thing I need to worry about on your behalf, but still. And because I'm one of your best friends in the known universe—"

"You want to prove to me that you're here. That you're rooting for us." Tony snapped his mouth shut, and Bruce nearly smiled. "How long have you been worried about everything going up in smoke?"

Tony immediately pulled a face. "You know, if you think my unerring support means I'm also waiting for some kind of crisis, then—"

"I think you're trying to pretend like you're not worried about my relationship. The fact that you show it through excessive support, well . . . " Bruce shrugged slightly, trailing off. For a moment, the same old thoughts flooded his mind: worries about being a parent, questions about living arrangements, fears about pushing Natasha too hard or backing her into a corner. Finally, though, he just looked back at Tony. "For what it's worth," he added, "I worry about a crisis, too."

They stood in silence for a minute, staring one another down among all the various baby accessories. At least, until Tony narrowed his eyes. "Except you're not melting down about it," he pointed out. "Why aren't you melting down about it?"

"Because I'm trying to believe in the both of us. And maybe that's because I need to in order to keep from melting down, but I also think . . . " Bruce paused, a smile creeping onto his face without his permission. "I think, deep down, she and I really just want the same thing." He shrugged. "In the end, I have faith in that."

Tony pursed his lips again, his eyes still trained on Bruce. "And in top-rated memory foam car seats your best friend researched to show his continued support in your impending parenthood?" he asked hopefully.

Bruce laughed. "And those, too."

"Got a second?" Natasha looked up from scowling at her laptop and nodded at the chair on the other side of her desk. Her office was tiny to begin with, and it felt even smaller when crowded with brightly colored parachutes, cones, jump ropes, and other gym paraphernalia. Bucky was just happy that the seat he was offered wasn't child-sized. "Parent e-mails?" he asked.

"How'd you know?"

"Your face made it obvious."

That brought a hint of a smile to her lips. "Just more endless e-mails about why we shouldn't play team games or keep score or have winners or other lack of feel-good bullshit. I really just need to write a standard e-mail that gets sent out as an automatic reply to everything that tells people to get over it."

"Good luck with that," he commented.

Natasha shrugged. "I have tenure now. It's fine. What's up?"

"Am I an asshole?" he asked.

"Only on days that end with y," she replied smartly. He sighed and looked at her, not trying to hide his torn up emotions that had been twisting up his insides for a week now. "James," she said softly.

He ran a hand over his face and shook his head. "You know how I am. I see something I want, and I just go after it. Nothing gets in my way and distracts me. I don't know how to do anything else. But this time, the two things getting in my way are my two best friends. And instead of listening to you and Steve, I just mowed you down and now I don't know how to get out of it."

The tip of Natasha's tongue darted out to wet her lips. He recognized it as one of her incredibly few nervous tics. "I actually may be able to help you with that."

"What do you mean?" Natasha slid the long center drawer of her desk open, the battered metal creaking as she did so. She grabbed a small piece of paper and slid it across her desk to him. Except it wasn't a piece of paper, it was a photograph. Black and white and grainy, it took him reading the letters OB-GYN after a stranger's name to realize what the white blob in the middle of the picture was. "You're pregnant?"

"Yeah," she replied softly. Emotions warred inside of him. He wanted to be excited for her, but knowing Natasha, he thought it would be a good idea to tamper his excitement since he wasn't sure how she felt about it. But there was also an undeniable spike of jealousy and the faint feeling that his plans were officially starting to fully unravel, never to be put back together again. "Say something," she pleaded.

"When did you find out?" he asked numbly, still staring at the ultrasound picture in his hands.

"A few hours after you stopped by to ask me to be a surrogate when I had that kidney stone thing."

Bucky groaned. "I am an asshole. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I still didn't know what to think about it or what I was going to do. Wasn't like I was planning for this to happen," she replied.

"Bruce?" he asked, hoping he wasn't stepping too far out of bounds by pushing for the father's identity.

Natasha nodded. "It's not the only reason we're trying to make things work again, but clearly, it plays a big part."

They both sat quietly for a moment, and it clicked in Bucky's head exactly how long it'd been since Natasha'd had her kidney incident. "That was two months ago," he said quietly. "How far along are you?"

"Fourteen weeks today," she answered.

Bucky felt his eyebrows rise. "Fourteen?" he asked. "I thought you would've told me sooner."

"You were a little busy being self-consumed and having your head up your ass," Natasha said bluntly. "How am I supposed to tell my best friend that I'm accidentally getting something he wants so badly? And," she paused and he could tell she wanted to grimace, "that I only want to go through this once, so I won't be available to rent out my oven to you and Steve."

Bucky ran his hands over his face again. "I fucked up."

"You're human, it's what we do. And we're really good at it."

"You okay?" he asked.

He saw her eyes start to tear up, and she quickly swiped at her face and swallowed. "I could've really used having my best friend around," she answered quietly.

"C'mere," he said as he rounded her desk and pulled her into a hug. He shoved his nose into her hair and tried to wrap his brain around the thought of Natasha Romanoff becoming a mom. He couldn't help but smile. "You're going to be amazing." He felt her collapse a little more against him, and she squeezed his waist tighter until she pulled away with a sniffle.

"Damn hormones," she muttered.

His eyes dropped to her waist. "Showing yet?"

Hesitantly, she lifted the hem of her oversized hoodie up over her waist. The navy tank top she wore underneath was flush against her body and showed the slightest of swells in her lower stomach. Without thought, his finger reached out to poke at her bump, but she swatted his hand away. "Poke me too hard, and I'll pee my pants."

He laughed and looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry," he said.

She nodded. "Appreciate it. But we both know there's someone else who needs to hear that."

Steve drew in a deep breath as he killed his car's engine.

No matter how hard he tried to ignore it—to stay even-keel, to plaster on a smile for his students and friends—he felt every inch of distance between him and Bucky like a physical barrier, and the longer it stood between them, the more it drained him. He barely slept, he poked at his meals, and every part of his body felt heavy.

Worse, he and Bucky barely spoke, and the silence— Somehow, it was the silence that exhausted him the most. In only a little over a year, Bucky had broken through a lifetime of easy quiet, destroyed Steve's comfort in stillness. After all, Bucky talked through everything, filling their days with color commentary and his usual incorrigible smirk. Steve had no idea how to live in a house where Bucky's cold shoulder felt more like an iceberg.

Or where he felt like the Titanic, slowly sinking.

Still, he checked his e-mail and some basketball scores (as though he cared about basketball) on his phone before forcing himself out of the car. He didn't know whether to be a grateful or annoyed that the first coach's training for the park district's Little League program started when there was still snow on the ground.

He just appreciated the break in the silence.

"I'm—" he started to say as he opened the front door, but the wall of amazing smells that smacked him in the face stopped him. He smelled tomatoes and garlic, herbs and fresh-baked bread, and his stomach growled immediately. For a brief second, he considered pinching himself.

The urge doubled when Bucky emerged from the kitchen. "Hey," he said, hands in his pockets. "I cooked."

"I could tell," Steve replied, but he kept his tone neutral. "Invite somebody over?"

"No. I—" Bucky hesitated, his posture tightening. "Come in, yeah? We kind of— I need to talk to you."

Steve nodded as he shed his coat and bag, aware of the way Bucky watched him the entire time. Like he expected Steve to either snap at him or disintegrate. The thought alone tied Steve's stomach back into knots. They maintained their same, long silence until Bucky led him over to the couch.

"I— I have this bad habit," he said. "One I've never learned to break."

"Just one?" Steve asked.

Bucky snorted lightly, but for the first time all week, a genuine smile nudged at the corner of his mouth. "One bad one, maybe. Because as much as I overthink pretty much everything—plan it out like I'm leading an army into war—the second I decide for sure I want something, I dive in. I don't hesitate. I don't stop. I charge straight to the end." He paused to find Steve's eyes. "And I sometimes stop thinking about everybody else."

Steve rolled his lips together. "That's not always a bad thing."

"It is when you ignore your best friend and your husband." He sighed and shook his head. "You grow up in a family like mine, you imagine your life with your person and your kids, and I— It got to the point where that's all I could see. Like I had blinders to the fact that maybe you weren't ready to dive in head first. That Natasha—" He stopped for a second, his gaze dropping to his lap. "I want us to be parents. I'd think we'd be great at it. But if the choice is between us being okay or a baby, the choice is you."

"Even if I'm never ready for exactly what you want?" He snapped his head up, his expression suddenly paler than before, and Steve raised his hands. "I want kids eventually," he clarified, "but I meant what I said on Valentine's Day. I don't want to risk passing down my health problems." Bucky's throat bobbed, and Steve reached out to touch his hand. "I'm not my mom, Buck. I can't handle that. And I can't handle what it'd maybe do to us. Because like you said: if it's you or a kid, the answer's easy."

They watched one another for a moment before, finally, Bucky nodded unevenly. "I'm sorry," he finally said, and Steve swore his voice trembled. "I was an asshole, and—"

"We were both assholes." Bucky frowned, and Steve shook his head. "This whole time, I worried so much about letting you down that I talked to other people instead of coming straight to you. Phil, Natasha—"

Realization dawned over Bucky's face. "That's why you said Natasha didn't want to be a surrogate. You already knew."

"That she wasn't interested? Yeah. When you were railroading her, I—" Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly, the expression he usually used when trying to peer through a student's lie, and Steve frowned. "That's not what you meant, is it?"

Bucky shook his head. "No," he admitted, "but it's maybe not my story to tell. At least, not when everything's still all . . . "

He gestured weakly between them, and Steve smiled slightly as he caught one of his husband's hands. He felt warm and familiar—solid, even—and Steve worked hard not to drag him into his grip. "I'm not going to deny that you were an asshole," he finally said, "but I forgive you for it. At least, if you can forgive me for not being totally forthright."

Bucky smiled. "Stevie, I'd forgive you for anything," he said quietly, and Steve barely made it a full second before he reeled his husband in for a hug.

They held each other for long enough that the oven timer finally chimed, Bucky with his face in Steve's neck and Steve clinging on like he felt they'd both drown. Bucky waited until the beeping stopped to sigh against Steve's skin. "You want some forgiveness mostaccioli?" he asked.

"In a minute," Steve replied, and pulled him a little closer.

"Hey, Miss Potts!" a little voice sounded at the same time someone started tugging on her skirt. Pepper looked down and heard a snap come from Darcy's desk. The office manager shot the girl—Alva—a warning look. The kindergartner's shoulders slumped as she sighed before trying to once again steal Pepper's attention from Tony. "Excuse me, Miss Potts," she said in a practiced and polite voice.

"Yes, Alva, what can I help you with?" Pepper asked while moving her coffee mug away from Tony's grabby fingers.

"Oh, I don't need your help," she replied as she pulled her My Little Pony backpack off of her slim shoulders. "You need mine."

"This oughta be good," Tony muttered under his breath. He then pulled a face of mock innocence when Pepper stepped on his foot.

"Here," Alva announced as she pulled a tattered and faded bundle of cloth free of her backpack.

Tony recoiled from the sight, and Pepper tried not to roll her eyes at his perpetual fear that his students would literally be the death of him with some all powerful, antibiotic-resistant, super bacteria. She, however, plastered a smile on her face and took the bundle of cloth from Alva's outstretched hands. "Thank you. How is this going to help us?" she asked, even though she would have preferred inquiring what it was and how many times she needed to run it through the washer before Tony felt like it was safe enough to enter their house again.

"It's her stupid baby blanket," Henry grumbled, his eyes glued on the handheld gaming device that Tony probably knew inside and out, but video games were never part of farm life growing up. Much to Pepper's brothers' chagrin.

"It's not stupid," Alva shouted back. Darcy snapped again before making a v-sign with her fingers.

"I'm not getting in trouble when you two get to three and she calls Mom," George said as he picked up his backpack and the book he was reading and scooted further away from his siblings.

Alva glared once more at both of her brothers before turning her attention back to Pepper and Tony. "I heard Daddy talking about how you two are going to have a baby, so I thought I would give it my blanket since I'm a big girl and don't need it anymore."

Henry snorted. "Yes, you do. You cried for an hour last night over a stupid cartoon."

Pepper expected to hear a third snap, but instead Darcy was sitting at her desk, mouth hanging open. She managed to sputter a response to one of the parents calling their kid in sick for the school day before quickly avoiding all eye contact with Pepper and Tony. The guidance counselor was slightly afraid to let her eyes sweep around the room. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed like the bustling elementary school office had suddenly gone still and quiet. The only sound in the air came from Henry's video game.

"Yeah, see, here's the thing," Tony started.

Pepper plastered a smile on her face and interrupted her husband. "This is a very kind gift, Alva. Thank you very much. Did you ask your Mom and Dad if it was okay to give away your baby blanket? Sometimes parents like to keep those things even when their kids don't."

"No," the girl answered with a shrug. "I'm sure they'd say it's okay."

"Well why don't you ask them tonight, and I'll keep it in my office just in case you need to take it back home with you."

"But it's a gift for your baby," Alva argued, a thin note of hurt evident in her voice.

Pepper could feel Tony getting ready to reason with the five-year-old, and she knew no good would come of it. So she smiled at Alva once more, grabbed Tony by the belt loops, and began to calmly but quickly march towards her office.

"We've got to put a stop to this," Tony said once she closed her office door behind them. "I get that at first they didn't know what they were going to do, and I love Bruce like a long lost, hairy brother, but I think everyone and their dog knows why we married each other and how I had a special surgery on my dick to make sure we never needed that." He punctuated his last sentence by pointing at Alva's blanket and cringing.

"Two weeks," Pepper said. "Give them two weeks to come clean about it."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we deny that we're expecting, but we don't say if or who any impending parents might be," Pepper said.

Tony rolled his lips into a thin line, clearly unhappy about the idea, but nodded anyway. "I've got bus duty."

"Be nice to Natasha while you're out there," Pepper warned. She stood in her office alone for a few seconds before there was a knock on her now-open door.

"You wanna tell me why in between parent phone calls for sick kids Darcy is doing a Pinterest search for 'baby showers for rich people?'" her boss asked.

"Not really," Pepper answered.

Fury's mouth hardened into a flat line. "It's a pain in the ass finding a sub for a teacher's maternity leave. You wanna know how much harder it'll be finding someone to step in for a guidance counselor?"

"It won't be an issue," Pepper said. She gave him credit for not blatantly staring at her stomach, but she could almost see him count months in his mind.

Tony was right. Bruce and Natasha owed them big time.