A/N: I just want you all to know that this story has made me do something I haven't done in years. No, not update, smart alecks, but OUTLINE. Seriously, I haven't made an outline of a fic since the early 2000's. However, looking at the one I've got now, this fic should be about 22 vignettes long, covering 18 years of Stark family life, culminating in "I am Iron Man" or thereabouts.

And the best news is that I have a clear plan for all but one or two of the vignettes. So there shouldn't be any long lags between updates. In fact, if I don't hear something about a perspective job soon, I'll have more time to write than I really need.

As always, feedback more than welcome.

Enjoy.

Dazed, Tony Stark raised his cellular phone to his ear. It was an unusual effort; the device was boxy and brick-like, but not terribly heavy. The electronic mimicry of a ringing bell was surprisingly harsh in his ear. He barely gave it any further notice beyond that observation though, anymore more than he gave notice to the time.

When the recorded tone of the answering machine started playing, Tony hung up and dialed again. This time he got through to the military operator at Edward's Air Force Base. Seconds later – once he'd made himself understood through the static – the phone was ringing again. It kept ringing for some times, until it was eventually picked up.

"Lieutenant James Rhodes."

It must have been late in California. Rhodey sounded tired. These were observations made entirely by intellect, without conscious thought; Tony never tore his eyes away from the glass in front of him, and it was the scene behind it that held a majority of his attention. Some things were more important that checking his watch for confirmation of the time.

"This is Lieutenant Rhodes. Hello?"

"Is a green nursery alright for a girl?"

Tony's question was not immediately answered, at least, not by anything other than a heavy sigh.

"Tony, if you're having second thoughts about the nursery, let that decorator you hired deal with it in the morning." When he got no reply, Rhodes sighed again. "Look, I can call you a cab if you need one. Where are you?"

"Marseille."

"France?" Rhodey sounded more alert now.

"Well, if I were in Illinois, I think I'd understand more of the signs."

"What are you doing in…" Rhodey's voice trailed off slowly, until it was overcome by the soft but constant fuzz of static that was on the line.

Tony felt like he was wrapped in that fuzz.

"I thought you said it was going to be a boy."

"That's what I said," Tony confirmed. However, the bassinet he was staring at so intensely through the window held an unmistakably pink blanket and boasted a placard that read "petite fille Stark."

Baby girl Stark…roughly.

"Rhodey, what am I supposed to do with a little girl?" Tony was quite proud that the panic that hid under his mental static fuzz didn't come through in his voice.

"At this age? The same thing you'd do with a boy, I suppose. Just without the hard decisions about whether or not to circumcise the kid."

Neither man spoke for several seconds.

"Damn, talk about cosmic justice, Tony."

"Thanks." Tony took a deep breath for what felt like the first time in hours. "I want you to be her godfather. Honorary uncle. Something." He'd decided early on that he didn't want to deal with godparents, but that was when he'd been under the impression that he was going to have a son. Daughters were another mater entirely, and a new sense of protectiveness started to mingle with the low flush of panic still in his belly.

He wondered how long it'd be before this little pink bundle of blankets that he'd yet to meet, realized that it had a complete putz for a father.

He was going to need all the reinforcements he could get.

"I expected a more prompt reply, Lieutenant Rhodes."

"What about Obadiah?" Rhodey's voice was curiously subdued. As if he were getting choked up or something. Of course, if he was going to be putting Baby Girl Stark on the same podium as his uniform, Tony supposed he could put up with the earnestness. Only the best for his kid, right? Rhodey was definitely the best.

"I'll call him next. I don't think it'll be an issue. So?"

"Not quite what I meant, but yeah. I mean, yes, of course."

"Okay then. I'll talk to you later."

"Wait! What's her name –"

Rhodey was cut off unceremoniously and without an ounce of regret on Tony's part, though not without being heard. As his hand dropped to his side rather mechanically – perhaps spending a good portion of the afternoon in the pub around the block from the hospital hadn't been the best idea – Tony had to ask himself the same question. What did one name a little girl? Eleni hadn't left any instructions; she'd put all the responsibilities in his lap, no pun intended. She'd barely even signed the birth certificate, and she definitely hadn't acknowledged the note Tony had sent up with along with an extravagant bouquet of flowers.

Lilies, with lots of frothy smaller flowers.

Lily wouldn't do at all. It sounded too delicate, and he was already too intimidated without feeling like he'd break the kid.

His kid.

Of course he'd sent flowers. Leni was the mother of his child whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not. Tony certainly didn't know how else to thank her, as she wanted nothing from this that she hadn't had the night they'd met. She hadn't wanted anything that was his.

The nurses had noticed him by now – wrinkled trousers, rolled up shirt sleeves, tie unknotted and askew. Rumbled and red-eyed. That was him. Probably the image of every new father.

In this he found something that made him an ordinary man. Not a wunderkind who carried the hopes of a international company on his barely legal shoulders, or an orphan, or a mathematical whiz kid.

He was just an ordinary guy who was starting to realize – really realize – just how much his life was about to change.

He meant to tap lightly on the glass. What happened was that his finger fell heavily against the pane and stayed there. A smiling young woman pulled on a pair of fresh gloves and came forward. She scooped Baby Girl Stark out of her bassinet and brought her right up to the window. Just about all Tony could see was dark matted hair that had a small pink satin bow attached to it somehow, red skin covering a wrinkled little face, and a pursed rosebud of a mouth.

His hand flattened against the glass, half to help support him and half just because he wanted to reach though it and take the pink bundle in what would undoubtedly be clumsy hands.

What kind of name did a guy give his daughter?

The nurse's nametag read "Hannah."

Which was nice. But the baby he was looking at was much to small to be a full Hannah…