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Tony had never wanted a son because he didn’t want to be a father.
Because, fathers, to Tony, were strict, cruel and condescending. They lacked a belief in their children, talked down to them and made them cry at night. Fathers ignored their sons, fathers berated their sons, fathers posed for cameras with their sons as if they were proud of them, but immediately turned their backs once the reporters went away.
Tony didn’t know how to be any other kind of father.
-
He married Pepper Potts in 2000, because why wouldn’t he? She was tall and beautiful and had a way of dragging him from his demons without breaking a sweat. Her smile was never once patronising, even if her tone was – she cared, in short. Pepper Potts cared about him in a way few people had, and though he hadn’t had enough of the drinking, the fucking, the parties – this was Pepper Potts, and Tony Stark knew that she wouldn’t wait around while he got it out of his system.
So he gave up the women, the drugs, the benders, and he promised to love her for the rest of his life, to stand by her, to cherish her, to not betray the trust she was placing in him.
Still, he didn’t want a child.
“You’re not Howard,” she said one night in bed, their bodies tangled together like they always did; Tony had never been one for poetry, but he swore there was something poetic in the way they fit together like puzzle pieces, like destiny or fate had created a body that slipped perfectly beside his.
“I’m Tony,” he agreed, “but I’m like him.”
“You’re not.” Pepper had never met Howard Stark, but she knew enough. Tony couldn’t think of a nice thing Pepper had ever said about his father, and he enjoyed the solidarity. “You’re better, and kinder, and braver.” Tony didn’t respond and Pepper blew out a breath. He felt it on his chest. “I want to have a family with you,” she whispered. “Children, a dog, maybe. We could teach them to swim in the pool out back. We could take them on holidays to beaches and cities; they could have lives only a few people in this world get to live.”
“Pepper.”
“Hear me out,” she said, so he did, because in his vows he’d promised to listen to her, and he’d been doing well at keeping promises, recently. “Little Stark children, with your eyes and my hair-”
“Your hair and your eyes,” Tony corrected, then, reluctantly, “We’d want them to have both – they deserve that much.”
He could feel her lips turn up into a smile. “They’d be smart but kind. They could learn business or science or maths or something entirely different. Maybe they’d be a painter, or a writer. Oh – they could be anything, Tony. They’d run around all day, they could help you fix up your cars in the lab. Maybe they’d love singing.”
“Singing?”
She nodded into his chest. “I happen to think we’re both wonderful singers. Maybe they would be too. Or, maybe, you’d sing them lullabies, and they’d sing them back. Tony,” she whispered, “think of the possibilities.”
Baby Starks, he thought. He didn’t want to be a father; didn’t want to ruin young, impressionable lives like his father did. Tony didn’t want to hurt a child, didn’t want to pawn them off on Pepper to raise, have her feel dejected and alone, watch their marriage crumble and fall apart. In a divorce, Tony Stark would never win custody of a child.
His chest tightened at the thought. Would a baby lead to him losing Pepper?
It didn’t matter, because Pepper quietened, her eyes shut and her breath evening out. She wanted to have a family and Tony couldn’t think about that. Still, he closed his eyes and thought of the image; a little girl with Pepper’s hair and eyes, holding out a wrench when he asked for a screwdriver.
He’d never admit that he smiled.
-
“Hey, Tony,” Pepper said, walking into the kitchen. She looked pale and Tony knew she’d been throwing up – she was probably coming down with something, and Tony was about to suggest sending her back to bed when she kept talking. “I don’t want you to panic.”
“It’s the plague,” Tony replied, not missing a beat. “You’ve got the plague, not just a stomach bug.”
She cracked a smile, leaning against the kitchen island he was sitting at. “No, no, no plague today. Just black death for me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Black death, huh? Maybe I should be calling a doctor.”
“Not yet,” Pepper replied. “Usually you don’t need a doctor until, like, ten weeks.”
“Ten weeks of black death? You’d be dead by then, Pep.”
She rolled her eyes. “Good thing it’s not really black death.”
Tony Stark was a smart man, but he didn’t always like it. He eyed her, the playful smile, the tinge of worry in her eyes. Ten weeks, ten weeks, ten weeks. He knew what this meant.
“What is it then?” he asked, as if he didn’t.
Pepper stepped closer, nudging his legs aside so she could stand between them. Her hands slipped around his shoulders, linking loose behind his neck. He noticed, then, that it wasn’t just a tinge of worry. She was nervous, afraid, because it had only been a few weeks since Tony had written off children and she didn’t know how he’d react; she didn’t know what would happen to the baby she was growing.
Tony schooled his features into an easy smile, slipping his hands over her hips, fingers creeping beneath her t-shirt.
“You’re not going to freak out?” she asked.
“I’ve never freaked out a day in my life.”
“I’m pregnant.”
Despite her fears, Pepper’s smile widened into a grin. God, Tony Stark had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life.
“I love you,” he said, letting her kiss him, letting the conversation fall away, letting the thought of a baby – his baby – stumble to a door that he would have to keep firmly locked in future.
-
The scans showed a healthy baby. Tony didn’t voice his fears. Pepper started searching for baby supplies and cleared out a room in the mansion to serve as the nursery. It was once Tony’s office, overlooking the ocean – but he never used it. Maybe the baby would.
The baby. It. Baby Stark.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Pepper asked, propped up in bed as Tony went about the room, searching for clothes. Early morning sun was peeking through the windows; they both had work, board meetings, talks with Obadiah that would take precedent throughout the day.
“With what?”
“With the baby.”
Tony stopped and looked over. She was at three months. Twelve weeks. She’d bought cans of bright yellow paint for the nursery. She’d researched birthing plans and classes. She’d bought a whole stack of baby-proofing kits to seal cupboards and block the stairs. She was excited.
“Yeah,” Tony said, searching for a shirt. “Of course I am.”
“No,” Pepper replied, “you’re not. You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“That thing where you don’t look at me, because you’ll know that I’ll know you’re lying.”
Tony turned to her. “I’m not lying.”
“Do you love me?” she asked.
“Of course I love you, why are you asking that?”
“I’m establishing a base line,” Pepper replied.
He let out a bark of laughter. “Like a lie detector?”
Pepper nodded and moved down the bed until she was sitting at the end of it, her bare legs tanned and stretched out before her. “Now, do you love me?”
“Yes, Pep. I love you more than breathing.”
“Truth,” she said. “Do you like this house?”
“Of course I like the house. I designed it. It’s perfect.”
“Truth,” Pepper agreed. “Have you ever kissed a man?”
“Pep-”
“Answer the question!” she said, smiling.
“I’ve kissed many men, Pepper. My first was Rhodey and from there they just went downhill.”
“Agreed,” Pepper said. “Rhodey is a good kisser.”
Tony furrowed his brow. “How would you know?”
“A lady never tells her secrets,” she replied, prim. “Now, do you want to have a baby?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Lie.”
“How could you possibly tell that?” He was struggling with his tie at the moment and dropped it to look at her.
Pepper shrugged. “It’s the pitch of your voice. It changed. It wasn’t as sure.” She stood, moving in front of him. “Why don’t you want a child?” He blew out a breath. “Tony. Do I have to give you the you’re not Howard Stark speech again? Because I will.”
“I know I’m not him,” Tony said. He probably looked more vulnerable than he’d like, standing there in just a shirt and tie, as he avoided eye contact. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to be a better father than him. He’s the only example I have here.”
“You have your mother.”
“Oh yeah, that’s great. She was wonderful until it came to protecting me, because then all she would do was watch and make excuses for him. Pep – I don’t know how to be a parent. I don’t want to ruin this kid’s life.”
“You’re not going to.”
“How can you be so sure about that?”
“Because I know you, Tony,” Pepper replied. “You may have the world fooled that you’re a chauvinistic, narcissistic, asshole-”
“Really doing great for the ego, there, honey.”
“You may have the world fooled,” she continued, “but you don’t have me fooled. I’ve seen you. The real you. The you that cares more than anyone I’ve ever met. In six months, you’re going to meet this child and you’re going to fall so in love with them that you’ll never want anything in this world to even mildly inconvenience them. I know that because I know you. And this child is going to love you – they’re going to love their father, because you, Tony Stark, are a good person.”
The speech was ruined a little bit by Pepper’s eyes widening at the end. She held up a single finger and rushed to the bathroom, promptly throwing up into the toilet. Still, Tony stared into his wardrobe and wondered if she was right.
If it didn’t matter where he came from, because he was going to be better. If he was going to meet the child and never let anything hurt them; if he was going to do something Howard Stark never managed.
Tony sighed. He had meetings to get to.
-
Tony and Pepper announced the pregnancy when it was becoming clear that she couldn’t hide it much longer.
“I’m a baby whale,” she announced one day. “I say baby because I’m going to grow into a full-sized adult whale in a few months’ time.”
“That’s nice, honey.”
They told the world by arranging an interview with a reputable reporter and bringing it up with them. It made international news within two days and they kept an eye on the reports, watching the world discuss Pepper’s pregnancy and how far along she was.
“At least they’re not talking about what a horrible person I am,” Tony said.
Pepper hummed. “I can do that instead, if you miss it?”
-
The baby was three weeks late. They had yet to find out the sex.
“Get out of me,” Pepper said that morning, staring at her stomach. “Just get out. I don’t want you in there anymore. My bladder is, never has been and never will be your squeeze toy. Out, demon, out.”
“Honey,” Tony said, mild, “let’s not go calling the baby a demon just yet.”
“They’re gonna look just like you,” she muttered, her voice dark. “I bet they’re going to be your carbon copy because you put this thing inside me and you’re the devil-”
“Pep, it’s too early to be calling me the devil.”
She grumbled and Tony moved to her side of the bed to help pull her up. “I can’t believe you got me pregnant,” she complained. “I can’t believe you did this to me – did you see my body before? I was hot, Tony. Hot.”
“I know,” he replied, light, turning to find her clothes. Pepper was off on maternity leave and Tony had argued there should be one for fathers, and so took time off work, too (but Tony also took time off work whenever he wanted, because he owned the company, so it didn’t mean much coming from him). “You were the hottest woman I’d ever seen.”
“Stop talking about me in past tense,” she said. “I’m still right here. Am I not hot anymore, Tony? Have you impregnated me and made me ugly?”
He stifled a laugh. This was the fourth time they’d had this conversation this week. “You’re still the hottest woman on the planet,” he dutifully replied. “I’m in love with you, you’re beautiful, you don’t look a day over twenty.”
The baby must’ve kicked because Pepper winced, glared at her stomach, and muttered, “Demon baby,” under her breath. It was then, possibly a response to Pepper’s words, that water splattered across the bedroom floor. “Oh fucking finally.”
-
She was in labour for almost twenty-four hours. Tony had to leave the room to laugh whenever she got particularly angry and cussed him out for his very existence, for the sheer audacity that he had to put her through pregnancy.
“You’re having the next one!” she yelled after him as he left. “You’re gonna invent some stupid-ass device that makes it possible for men to get pregnant and you’re gonna give birth to the next child from hell!”
It was only a few minutes later as he was laughing about it with Rhodey in the hallway that he got called back in. Apparently, it was time.
-
At four thirty-seven AM on the eleventh of August, Peter Benjamin Stark was born. Peter cried. Tony smiled. It was the start of something.
-
A weight lifted from his shoulders as he saw his child for the first time. Pepper, however wrong she was about this baby being from hell – he looked too innocent, too naïve for that – she was right about something: when Tony first laid his eyes on him, he was in love.
This was his son. His son.
Stark men had raised boys who turned out to be terrible fathers but Tony was determined to break the chain. He’d be a good father – the best. He’d raise this kid to be even better.
She was right about something else, too, they’d find out soon enough – Baby Stark was a carbon copy of his father, dark hair and eyes, and a penchant for getting into trouble.
“Peter,” he whispered when Pepper woke up at last, the two of them curled around each other in the hospital bed, tired and so happy, a small bundle in his wife’s arms.
“Peter,” she agreed. “We love you so much, Peter. So much. I’m sorry I called you a demon. You’re anything but.”
-
Peter Stark loved to move and talk. He went with them to galas and events, sat on Pepper’s hip or in Tony’s arms, wearing a tiny suit that cost more than the average car, and babbling the whole way through a key note address or important speech. His parents didn’t mind; they were too in love with him to care, too happy that he was talking – even if it was nonsense – to mind that he was talking over something else.
They taught him to swim; he wore floaties and held on tight whenever he was in the water. He giggled a lot, grinning all the time, so much joy held in such a tiny body.
He knew his manners better than Tony did. Always saying please and thank you, and Tony hoped he’d never grow out of that. There was a blanket – dark blue and a gift from Rhodey – that Peter was yet to let out of his sight. He took it everywhere with him, curled up with it at night and cried if it was ever too far away.
He was smart and funny and kinder than Tony could’ve hoped for. They’d researched schools to send him to, and there was one in Malibu that had high security and great results. He only went for a few months before a few thinly veiled threats sent in the mail to SI persuaded them to pull him from school and start up with a home tutor – but it was okay, because Peter still saw the friends he’d made at weekly play dates, and still loved to learn and never once complained about leaving school.
Some nights, he’d cry and cry and cry and not stop. He’d started doing this at age three and everyone said he was just asking for attention, he’ll cry himself out, but Tony wasn’t one to let his son cry without knowing his father would be there to hold him, so Tony would rock him straight through the night if that’s what it’d take. Eventually, Tony just wanted to go somewhere, let Pepper sleep and breathe by himself, so he’d take his crying son, place him in a sleek red car and drive through the night until Peter wore himself out.
Peter always wore himself out on those drives.
That car was also his favourite.
“What’s your favourite colour?” Tony asked him once, the three of them sitting on a blanket at the beach. There was little wind, a calm ocean and a lot of salty air to smell.
“Red,” Peter decided, without hesitation. He was building a sandcastle but wasn’t packing the sand in enough to keep them standing.
“Why’s that, buddy?”
Peter stopped to think. “It’s the colour of Mommy’s hair,” he replied, “and also the colour of my favourite car.”
“Your favourite car?”
“Yeah, the one we go in at night when I can’t sleep.”
Tony smiled. “That’s my favourite car, too.”
-
Then, the light was gone, the child vanished in the arms of men who disappeared, their guns tight in their hands, their gaze icy cold. Tony had never felt so hollow.
He hadn’t even wanted a child, but when he did, the universe had to tear them away from him. It was some sick justice, some shitty karma that he must’ve deserved, must’ve earned.
Peter, Peter, Peter.
-
Tony looked at the screen. Pepper had gone to the charity event in his name tonight, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up and go. Afghanistan was weighing on him. Peter was weighing on him. Not knowing was weighing on him.
On television, Obi laughed with the interviewer, said Tony was still in recovery.
He looked back to the design on screen. A suit of armour, to keep his family safe. First Peter, then Tony – what if Pepper was next? What if armed shooters broke into their home again and took her and again he couldn’t do anything about it?
He’d already failed his son, he couldn’t fail his wife, too.
The armour was golden, bright and gleaming.
“A little ostentatious, don’t you think?” he asked JARVIS.
“Yes, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Tony swallowed. Peter. In this suit, maybe he could find him. Maybe he could bring his son home. “How about red?” he suggested. “A little hot rod red.”
The armour rendered on screen, red painted throughout the design. Pepper carried Peter with her wherever she went; she’d slip his blanket into her bag and know that he was close to her. Tony didn’t have anything like that. Maybe this could be it – maybe one day he’d fly over a village or a city and he’d hear a kid shout Red! That’s my favourite colour! and he’d know.
“Yeah,” Tony said, standing. He’d go to the gala after all, maybe dance with his wife and spend one night not staring at the photos of Peter that sat on every surface of the house. “Yeah, that’s good.”