Intermezzo: Under a Cork Tree

10:06 AM. Stark Eco-Compound. Upstate New York. March. 2019.

Tony opened the mailbox and removed a neat package wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string, just like The Sound of Music. It was very quaint. Who had a ball of string anymore? Curious, Tony looked for a return address, but there wasn't one, though there was something familiar about the handwriting. He pushed off the string and ripped the paper, stuffing the trash into his coat pocket. It was a picture book, a pretty, hardcover edition of Ferdinand he opened the cover, a letter tumbled out onto the snowy ground. Tony retrieved it:

Dear Tony,

Congratulations on the birth of your daughter. Bruce told me it'll be any day now. I am so happy for you. I—

Tony crumpled the stationary and crammed it in his pocket with the packaging. He did recognize the handwriting. The book, he decided, was going in the trash, too. He'd toss it in the bin outside the house, and—

"What's that?" Pepper, enormous in her puffy coat, was waddling down the snowy drive.

"It's a book. Ferdinand," he said, holding it up. So much for the trashcan idea.

"That's nice. We don't have that one." She held out her hands for it, and Tony turned it over reluctantly. "Who sent it?"

"There was no return address." Not technically a lie.

"But there's an inscription," she said, opening the cover to the patterned end page. Of course there was. Of course that ancient-ass, quill-wielding, snail-mail sending asshole had inscribed it. "It's—well, it's from Steve. There was no note?"

Tony had been caught red-handed. He took the crumpled letter out of his pocket and surrendered it, too. "I didn't look at it."

Frowning, Pepper stuck the book under her arm and unfolded the wad of paper, her eyes moving over the neat, upright penmanship.

She sighed when she was through. "You've got to read this."

"Nope." He started back towards the house, boots crunching on the snowy gravel. Pepper broke into her fast waddle behind him.

'It's an apology."

"Good," he said, continuing briskly down the drive, "he owes me an apology."

"He says he'd love to hear from you."

"But I don't love to hear from him, so–"

"This is an olive branch, Tony. How long are you planning to punish him? Forever?"

"'Forever' sounds about right, yeah."

He could hear that she was starting to puff, the pace too much for her. Guiltily, Tony stopped and waited for her to catch up. She took his arm, pouring her weight onto his elbow.

"He's lonely, you know," she said sadly, and it made Tony want to shake her off again. He had no pity for Cap. None. Zero. Zilch.

"Not my problem. He made his bed. Now he gets to lie in it."

"Stop it," Pepper snapped, halting dead in the snow, hand still locked on his elbow. "That's enough. How can you be so cold? You got lucky, lucky. We've got each other. We've got the baby. And I know you lost Peter, but Steve? Steve lost the Avengers. He lost you. He lost Sam. James—"

"Fucking Barnes?" Tony snorted. "Are you trying to make me feel sorry about Barnes? Because I got news for you, Pep—"

"You know," she said, talking over him, "it would be one thing if you really were over it, if you really didn't care. But you do care. You…" she struggled for the right word, "you pine for him, Tony."

"I do not," he scoffed. "I—"

"You do. You miss him. And I won't pretend to understand it since the two of you fight like cats and dogs, but—"

"I don't miss—"

"Then why is that phone still in your pocket?"

There was no possible answer to that question, so Tony didn't provide one. Instead, he took out the flip phone with its sad, single number and chucked it hard as he could towards the tree line.

"There," he said. "There. See? Don't need him. Don't want him. I don't–"

He threw up his hands and resumed his walk back to the house alone.

⁂

"I feel like a whale," Pepper said unhappily.

"The whale is a beautiful, majestic animal," Tony assured her. "Strong, graceful." He shifted her hair so he could kiss the back of her neck as he thrust into her lazily. They were spooning under the covers; it was the only viable sex position at this point in the pregnancy.

"A beached whale."

"Beached whales are the best whales. You can only appreciate their awesome size when they're out of the water. I mean, your ass ismagnificent. And yourtits," he sighed, reaching over to cup one of her heavy breasts.

"Don't touch those," she snapped, swatting at him. Nature, Tony reflected, was a cruel mistress. Here in the homestretch, Pepper's breasts were enormous, the biggest, most beautiful breasts Tony had ever seen, and they were too sensitive to handle. He moved his hand to her stomach instead, caressing her belly. It was a continual wonder to him. For months, she'd had a discreet little tummy, indiscernible under her clothes, and then, seemingly overnight, her stomach had just popped. It now resembled nothing so much as a beachball, perfectly round and taut.

"Don't touch that either. I'm trying not to think about being pregnant right now," Pepper said irritably, but irritable was her default mode these days, and Tony tried not to take it personally. It had been a tough month: some part of her hurt all the time, and she could barely sleep. It was currently two am, and he'd found her tossing in the dark when he'd come up from the shop.

"How about this?" He stuck his fingers in his mouth, collecting the saliva, then reached between her thighs. "Can I touch this?"

"That," she sighed, melting, "that you can touch."

She snuggled closer to his chest as Tony stroked her in rhythm with the slow, gentle rock of his hips. She liked everything slow and gentle in bed right now. Even her vibrator was too aggressive; she said it made her feel crampy. And honestly? Tony kinda didn't hate it. Now that her stomach got in the way when she tried to use her own fingers, he was running the only game in town, and his game was very good. He'd become an orgasmic maestro; he could make her come as reliably as he could make himself come, which was to say, every single time, and sometimes twice. The exact maneuver involved making his fingers into a tight 'v' and rubbing just to either side of the clitoris without touching the glans, but you had to dig in, apply a certain pressure to the internal structure, which was where the skill really came into play—

"Ah," she said, sucking her teeth. It was not a sound of pleasure, but she growled at him when he started to pull away. "Don't stop! I'm close!"

His fingers resumed the slow stroke. "Contraction?" She'd been having lots of little ones for a couple of days.

"Yes. Don't talk about," she said again, and this time, itwaspleasure. He dug in a little harder, made the 'v' a little tighter; she arched her back with a moan. "Oh, god, Tony. Just like that."

A minute more and she tipped over the edge, crying out, shivering against him. It was unbelievably hot, and he came seconds behind her. He retrieved his hand from between her thighs, and slid it over her belly again. Pepper always seemed amenable to post-sex belly rubs. Under his palm, he could feel the baby moving, rolling in her watery cocoon.

"You know," he said, kissing Pepper's shoulder, "I think we should be having more sex. I am totally serious about this. Not a joke."

"Hmmm. And why is that?" Pepper yawned, reaching for her pillows: the wedge one, and the weird, seahorse-shaped one, arranging them just so under her belly.

"Well, as of midnight, the kid is officially three days overdue—"

"She does seem to share your flexible sense of time."

"—and prostaglandins cause cervical dilation–"

"Prostaglandins?"

"It's a hormone-like compound. It's in semen. I read an article about it in a parenting magazine."

"You and I have been reading different parenting magazines."

"I also learned, same article, that orgasms stimulate contractions. So does nipple play, by the way. I'm just saying, there's no downside."

"You're remarkably horny for someone who just got laid."

"Yeah. But again, and I can't stress this enough, your tits—"

There was a distinct lurch under Tony's hand, and a lump rose up—the baby's foot or maybe an elbow–jabbing right into his palm, distending the wall of Pepper's stomach. The lump lurched again, pushing out even further.

"What's she doing in there? Capoeira?" Tony asked as the baby continued her in-utero gymnastics. Tony found it totally horrifying and completely enchanting at the same time, like Alien reimagined by Walt Disney.

"Ugh," Pepper groaned. "I have no idea, but I wish she'd stop."

"Hey, you in there," Tony murmured, "cut it out." He rubbed at the bulge, and it subsided under the gentle pressure, leaving a smooth, untroubled stretch of skin.

"Mmm. Thank you," Pepper said drowsily.

"Don't mention it. I'm sorry I knocked you up with a time-blind insomniac."

"That's alright," she yawned again. "I knew what I was getting into. She's your child, after all."

"True. If she slept through the night and arrived promptly, I'd probably demand a paternity test. I've always wanted to be onMaury," Tony yawned, too.

"You know Maury Povich disappeared."

Tony frowned. "I thought that was Springer."

"Jerry Springer disappeared, too."

"Jesus, really?" Tony felt a pang. He'd met Povich a couple of times around town. Nice guy. So many people gone, just like that, far too many to keep track of.

He continued rubbing Pepper's belly. The baby had quieted, slumbering once again beneath the waves of her private got lucky, 's words from the morning came echoing back to him. And really, hewasone lucky son-of-a-bitch; plenty of people had lost everyone they'd cared about, and while Tony had suffered his own losses, he had his little family gathered safe in his bed.

Meanwhile, Clint Barton was suicidal somewhere in Asia, trying to get himself offed by the Yakuza. Thor was drinking himself to death, which was particularly sad because he was immortal. Banner was out of his fucking mind, totally devoted to the notion he needed to be Hulk full-time, and Romanoff had dumped his ass accordingly. Rogers was leading grief counseling sessions out in Brooklyn, hazarding the perils of online dating, and totally miserable by all accounts…

"Pep?" Tony looked over her shoulder. She was asleep.

Retrieving his boxers, he crept down the hall to the baby's room, all ready and waiting. The book was easy to find on the shelf with its bright red spine, and he settled with it in the glider. It was signed on the end pageFrom Steve with love, hesitated over the dedication, running his fingers over the neat letters before turning to the familiar story about the big, sweet bull who wanted nothing more in life than to sit under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. On the very last page, beneath the final illustration, Steve had written:

I'm glad you found your cork tree, Tony.

Fucking sentimental bastard, Tony thought, eyes watering. And then he was off, creeping down the hall like a cat burglar in his own damn house because he would die of shame if Pepper caught him doing what he was about to do… He put the armor on in the garage, right over his boxers, the metal freezing against his skin until the climate control got going, then he walked outside into the snow. He went airborne with awoosh,up over the tops of the trees lining the gravel drive.

"I'm looking for a phone, Friday," he informed the heads-up display. "A freaking Nokia flip. At three o'clock in the morning. In the snow. Feel free to tell me I'm crazy."

"You're crazy."

"I know."

He flew up the driveway slowly, cameras scanning the ground.

"Got it, Boss."

On his display, a red circle appeared along the tree line, and Tony dove for it as the circle narrowed to a single red pinprick in the snow. He landed, sinking up to his ankles in a drift, and picked up the phone, embarrassingly relieved to have it again. He trudged back to the shop, then took off the armor and sat on the sofa in his underwear, considering the phone with its single programmed number.

I got the book, he typed, then hit 'send' before he could talk himself out of it. Shockingly, the world did not end. He folded down the screen and started to go back to the house when it buzzed in his hand. At three o'clock in the morning. Which meant…what? Steve had his own flip phone in the bed with him, ready to take Tony's call whenever it came? That was…a concept.

He looked at Steve's text.

I'm glad. I've been thinking of you.

Tony dropped back onto the sofa. The correct reply was probably something like 'I've been thinking of you, too,' and it was true, but he didn't want to say it. The phone buzzed again before he had time to plot a response.

Did you read the letter?

No, Tony admitted, knowing he was probably admitting to other things.

You don't have to. Just says I'm sorry.

Again, Tony was at a loss. He couldn't write 'I forgive you' because, frankly, he didn't and wasn't sure he ever would. And not just for Barnes, not even mostly for Barnes, not anymore. Mostly he was angry he'd been left alone at the end of the universe to lose Peter and David Fucking Copperfield all by himself. Hell, he wasn't sure it was even Steve's fault, but it felt like Steve's fault. We'll lose together, Steve had said, once upon a time, and Tony had held that promise fast because he had wanted it to be true, wanted it to be true more than anything else he'd wanted in his life, more than Santa Clause or the Tooth Fairy or Cold Fusion.

The phone rang, not just a buzz, but aring, and Tony pressed the green button, already talking. "Don't think I've forgiven you."

"Okay, I won't," Steve said warmly, like Tony had said something else entirely, something nice. "Thanks for picking up. It's good to hear your voice." And it sounded soreal,in that way only Cap could make something sound real, earnest and sincere. "Tell me about the baby."

"The baby?" Tony said blankly. It seemed like they had skipped some conversational steps, some recriminations maybe, some abject apologies and subsequent rejections thereof…

"Got a name picked out?"

Tony licked his lips, half-way wanting to keep the name to himself out of spite. "Morgan," he said finally.

"Morgan," Steve said, like he was testing it out. "That a family name?"

"A family name," Tony snorted. "'Family name' is code for ugly and/or outdated. Like Mildred. Or Herbert."

"So…not a family name?" Tony could hear the amusement in Steve's voice.

"No, it is," Tony admitted. "Pepper's weird uncle. He studies ugly? Or, like, frumpy?" he asked suddenly, feeling a rush of anxiety. "Pep isn't totally sold on it, but I had this dream–"

"It's a nice name," Steve assured him, again in that real, true way that would make you believe absolutely anything.

"You'd say that even if you hated it."

"No. If I hated it, I'd say something like, 'I'm sure Uncle Herbert must be pleased.' But how do you feel? Are you ready?"

"No. Not really. Not at all. I mean, ready in the sense that I have, like, fifty onesies, a hundred thousand wet wipes, and a Baby Bjorn, yes. But in the psychic sense? It's tough when no one thinks you're capable of fatherhood and your only role model is Howard." The admission just sort of slipped out, but that was all telephone conversations after three am, right? Something about sitting around in the dark lacking sleep made you vulnerable.

"Who doesn't think you're capable?" Tony could hear Steve frowning through the phone, as if personally offended by the idea.

"I don't know. Everybody. Conventional wisdom. The world at large." He gestured to the dark shop, as if Steve could see.

"Well, I can't speak to the world at large, but nobody that knows you, Tony, actually knows you, thinks you're not capable. I know you are."

Tony shut his eyes, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably. It felt so good to hear Steve say it with his deep, unequivocal conviction, and it shouldn' 's opinion meant nothing to him. He didn't need Captain America's seal of approval.

"You know, Howard was capable," Tony retorted, breezy but biting, "at least theoretically, but he never really rose to the occasion, did he? Never really–"

"You aren't Howard. Morgan's lucky; you'll be a good father."

Tony wanted to toss the vote of confidence back in Steve's face, point out all the times he'd been a Major Disappointment, all the times he'd let everybody down, but instead he said, "Thanks, Cap." He was surprised the words didn't choke him on the way out. He was surprised, too, at how sincere they were. It was what Tony wanted to hear, and the way Steve said it almost had him convinced.

Almost.

"Boss?" Friday's voice came too loud over the speaker.

"Hang on a sec," Tony said, holding the phone away from his mouth. "What's up, Friday?"

"Mrs. Stark says she needs you right away. She thinks her water has broken."

"She—what?" The words didn't compute. Babies were only supposed to come during business hours and not while you were on the phone with Captain America.

"Mrs. Stark says she needs you. Her amniotic membranes ruptured."

Dazedly, Tony put the phone back to his ear, "Umm, I gotta go?" His voice took an unexpected lurch upward at the end, making it into question.

"What's wrong?" Steve's voice was instantly serious, intent, like he was packing up the shield to come to Tony's rescue.

"Nothing," Tony said hurriedly. "Or—well—Pepper's water just broke. The baby is…" He trailed off, feeling unreality settle over him. The baby. His baby…

"Oh. Well, Tony, that's—that's wonderful. But you've got to get off the phone—"

"Yeah. Yeah. I–Bye, Cap."

"Bye. Call me anytime. Be careful driving in the snow. Congratulations."

Tony hung up, staring at the phone. He wouldn't call. He already knew he wouldn't.

But still.

Tony was glad the phone would be in his pocket just in case.